y Fangs, the great, black bitch, to watch
her go, the dog whining and leaping upon the wicket gate as it swung
back into place.

XXIV

THE EVE OF THE THIRD DAY

A touch upon Constans's shoulder and a voice in his ear aroused him. He
sprang to his feet; the sunshine was streaming through the glazeless
casements, and Constans, being yet heavy with sleep, blinked against it
as a man drunken with wine. Oxenford confronted him. "The attack?"
questioned Constans, and for the life of him could not help yawning
prodigiously.

Red Oxenford laughed. "In that case I should have pulled your ear off
instead of wasting time shouting into it. By the thunders of God, man,
but you sleep soundly."

Constans was fully awake now. He glanced at the sun, which was high in
the sky, and then at Oxenford's gaunt face.

"I have left you to do the watching alone," he said, apologetically.

"What matter?" was the indifferent answer. "For me slumber would not
have meant forgetfulness, and the watching made the waiting so much the
easier."

Constans stood by the window looking across the Citadel Square and
directly up the Palace Road. "I see no sign of Piers Major," he said at
length.

"Down in the square," replied Oxenford, laconically.

In truth there was a most unusual activity pervading the stronghold of
the Doomsmen. Already the long rows of guard-huts were tenanted by a
throng of women and children, and the number was being constantly
reinforced by fresh arrivals. Guards were pacing the walls, and a squad
of the younger men were engaged in setting up the artillery machines for
hurling stones so as to command the open space in front of the north
gate. New ropes were being fitted to the torsion levers, and an ox-cart
loaded with ammunition, in the shape of rounded boulders, creaked
noisily through the gateway.

"The warning must have come down from the High Bridge at an early hour,"
said Constans, thoughtfully. "How long has all this been going on?"

"Only within the last hour," returned Oxenford. "I waited for the old
gray wolf himself to seek his lair before arousing you. He has but just
crawled into it--out of arrow-shot," he added, regretfully.

Constans could see half a dozen of the green-jerkined guards lounging
about the entrance to the White Tower, evidence that Dom Gillian was
resting within. There was nothing to be seen of Quinton Edge, but surely
he would not be far away from the storm-centre. Probably he was