“Ay! and you were a young man then. If any should undertake this task, why should not I? I am sick and weary to death of what I have seen yonder, and I had rather die once and for all than die by inches. Were there but a chance----”
“My lad, you must not think of it. You are young and there is still need for you in the world. The bonnie wench yonder could ill spare you; but there´ll be none, but mayhap yourself, to wait for the home-coming of Ninian Macpherson; and the folk yonder are worth venturing a man´s life for. I have been through many a siege, but I think since the beginning of time there hath been none like this.”
“Truly there is a fat Cathedral yard,” said Gervase bitterly, “and God knows when it will end. There are two more of Simon´s sturdy lads dead yesterday, and I hardly think the little girl I told you of will hold out till the morning.”
“Poor soul, poor soul!” he continued, “and to think that it should all be happening under that--” and he lifted up his hand. The night was clear and cloudless. The river lay before them reflecting the starlight in its calm unbroken waters, and the moon lifted its slender crescent through a mellow haze. They were about to retrace their steps along the lines when Macpherson, whose sight was marvellously keen, caught sight of a figure moving rapidly under the shelter of a sunken fence. He had seen it for a moment as it showed clear against the river, as it made its way swiftly in the shadow. He caught Gervase by the arm, pulling him under cover of the embankment.
“There is foul play here,” he whispered. “Yon binkie travels too fast to have an honest errand. He will come this way, if he intend, as I verily think he does, to pass through to the camp yonder.”
The man made his way toward them rapidly, without stopping for a moment. It was clear that he intended to pass the angle were they stood, and they would not have to stir to intercept him as he passed.
“There may be need of this,” said Macpherson, drawing his sword, “but I think not; the traitor is nearly always a coward.”
They could now hear the man breathing hard as he ran; he was preparing to leap into the trench, when Macpherson presented himself before him, with his drawn sword in his hand.
“Stand, and give me the word.”
The man stopped short as if astonished at the unexpected rencontre, and then thrust his hand into his breast. But Macpherson divined his purpose. “If you move that hand I will run you through the body,” and he held the point of the sword perilously near the man´s throat.