He fell asleep directly, and lay breathing hard till, in the midst of an uneasy dream, he was awakened suddenly by feeling a hand pressed upon his mouth.
Like a flash through the darkness he saw everything: Master Pawson had climbed up to his window from the court, entered silently, and was about to strangle him as he lay.
But before he could attempt to resist, a pair of warm lips were pressed upon his brow, and then glided to his ear to whisper—
“Roy, my boy, not a sound! Don’t speak! It is I—your father.”
The lad’s breast rose as a great sob of joy struggled to his lips, while his hands seized that upon his mouth, pressed it closer, kissed the palm, and were then passed round the neck of him who knelt by his bed.
They did not stay there a moment; for one began to feel the face, and the other was passed over the head.
No moustache and pointed beard, no long flowing curls, only stubble and short hair, and a long patch of plaster extending from the hair about the left temple to the right eyebrow.
Roy’s mental eyes were opened; he saw it all now. At last! His gallant father had risked his life to come to them in the disguise of a Roundhead trooper, and the general must have been sent on a fool’s errand so that the castle could be captured again.
Thump, thump, thump! went Roy’s heart as these thoughts rushed through his brain. Then the lips at his ear said, and it sounded strangely incongruous—almost mocking:
“Go on snoring as you were, so that the sentry at your door may hear.”