vel."

I saw at once the truth of this. The moon was high and clearly lighting
all the watered valleys. To sleep any longer might be death, not only to
myself, but all.

[Illustration: 433.jpg The moon was high]

"The man on guard at the back of the house is fast asleep," she
continued; "Gwenny, who let me out, and came with me, has heard him
snoring for two hours. I think the women ought to be the watch, because
they have had no travelling. Where do you suppose little Gwenny is?"

"Surely not gone to Glen Doone?" I was not sure, however: for I could
believe almost anything of the Cornish maiden's hardihood.

"No," replied Lorna, "although she wanted even to do that. But of course
I would not hear of it, on account of the swollen waters. But she is
perched on yonder tree, which commands the Barrow valley. She says that
they are almost sure to cross the streamlet there; and now it is so wide
and large, that she can trace it in the moonlight, half a mile beyond
her. If they cross, she is sure to see them, and in good time to let us
know."

"What a shame," I cried, "that the men should sleep, and the maidens
be the soldiers! I will sit in that tree myself, and send little Gwenny
back to you. Go to bed, my best and dearest; I will take good care not
to sleep again."

"Please not to send me away, dear John," she answered very mournfully;
"you and I have been together through perils worse than this. I shall
only be more timid, and more miserable, indoors."

"I cannot let you stay here," I said; "it is altogether impossible. Do
you suppose that I can fight, with you among the bullets, Lorna? If this
is the way you mean to take it, we had better go both to the apple-room,
and lock ourselves in, and hide under the tiles, and let them burn all
the rest of the premises."

At this idea Lorna laughed, as I could see by the moonlight; and then
she said,--

"You are right, John. I should only do more harm than good: and of all
things I hate fighting most, and disobedience next to it. Therefore I
will go indoors, although I cannot go to bed. But promise me one thing,
dearest John. You will keep yourself out of the way, now won't you, as
much as you can, for my sake?"

"Of that you may be quite certain, Lorna. I will shoot them all through
the hay-ricks."

"That is right, dear," she answered, never doubting but what I could do
it; "and then they cannot see you, you know. But don't think of climbing
that tree, John; it is