"To tell the truth, so did I," replied his father. "But we have gained two or three minutes. Now to decline as civilly as possible—though he might at least Mounseer me, I think."
As soon as his head reappeared above the parapet, Delarousse shouted:
"Eh bien! You render Jean Trevanion?"
Father and son looked at each other. Dick's face expressed surprise mingled with relief; a strange smile sat upon the Squire's countenance.
"We give up nobody," he called down firmly. "Do your worst."
Dick thrilled with filial pride. It was a lesson in chivalry that he never forgot. A word from his father, he could not doubt, would have sent the Frenchmen in hot haste to the Dower House; but that word the Squire could not speak, even though John Trevanion was his worst enemy.
Delarousse spat out an oath, shook his fist at the impassive gentleman above him, and toddled off to the back, disappearing behind the outhouses.
"We'll see what the rascal is after now," said the Squire quickly, and followed Dick down the stairs.
For a minute or two the further proceedings of the assailants were hidden from view. Then the watchers saw, coming round the corner from the stables, four men bearing a stout twelve-foot post. Delarousse, immediately behind, urged them on with voluble utterance and vigorous play of hands.
"A battering-ram!" said the Squire. "I think, Dick, 'tis time to give them a warning."