Fairfax laughed. The sturdy bluntness of the man was in keeping with all he had heard of him. "That is true. Will you surrender—leaving all arms behind you?"
"No," said the Squire of Nappa. "Bring your thousand cuckoos in, and I promise 'em a welcome."
He shut the casement, called for his son Christopher to take his sentry-place, and sought Lady Ingilby.
"There's a good deal to be done in five minutes," he said, by way of breaking the news to her.
"Oh, you think only of speed these days, and I—believe me, I am tired."
"'Tiredness butters no haver-bread,' as we say in Yoredale. There are two ways open to us—one to surrender by and by, the other to ride out to-night."
"But my husband—-oh, he left me here to hold the Castle."
"For as long as might be. He'll not grumble when he learns the way of our riding out. Better leave Ripley now, with honour, than wait till they starve us into surrender."
He had his way. In silence they made their preparations. Then Metcalf lifted a noisy rally-cry as he led his men into the courtyard. And the fight was grim and troublesome. When it was done, the Metcalfs turned—those who were left—and came back for the womenfolk; and some of the white horses, saddled hastily, fidgeted when for the first time they found women's hands on the bridle.
Michael was one of those who gave his horse, lest a woman should go on foot; and at the courtyard gate, while the press of folk went through, he halted suddenly.