a man, and had to seem brave, whether I was or no. Who's
there?" she called faintly. "Who's there? Support me, Moll. Beau Adair
is on his last legs."

Both stood listening intently and trembling from top to toe.

A score of rich voices, singing harmoniously, broke upon the night.

The startled expression on Nell's face changed instantly to one of
fearless, roguish merriment. She was her old self again. She tossed the
sword contemptuously upon the floor, laughing in derision now at her
companion's fear.

"A serenade! A serenade!" she cried. "Moll--Why, Moll, what feared ye,
lass? Come!" She ran gaily to the window and peeped out. "Oh, ho,
masqueraders from the moon. Some merry crew, I'll be bound. I am
generous. I'll give thee all but one, sweet mouse. The tall knight in
white for me! I know he's gallant, though his vizor's down. Marry, he is
their captain, I trow; and none but a captain of men shall be captain of
my little heart."

"It is Satan and his imps," cried Moll, attempting to draw Nell from the
window.

"Tush, little one," laughed Nell, reprovingly. "Satan is my warmest
friend. Besides, they cannot cross the moat. The ramparts are ours. The
draw-bridge is up."

In a merry mood, she threw a piece of drapery, mantle-like, about
Adair's shoulders, quite hiding them, and, decapitating a grim old suit
of armour, placed the helmet on her head. Thus garbed, she threw the
window quickly open and stepped boldly upon the ledge, within full view
of the band beneath. As the moonlight gleamed upon her helmet, one might
have fancied her a goodly knight of yore; and, indeed, she looked quite
formidable.

"Nell, what are you doing?" called Moll, wildly, from a point of safety.
"They can see and shoot you."

"Tilly-vally, girl," replied Nell, undaunted now that she could see that
there was no danger, "we'll parley with the enemy in true feudal style.
We'll teach them we have a man about the house. Ho, there, strangers of
the night--breakers of the King's peace and the slumbers of the
righteous! Brawlers, knaves; would ye raise honest men from their beds
at such an hour? What means this jargon of tipsy voices? What want ye?"

A chorus of throats without demanded, in muffled accents: "Drink!"
"Drink!" "Sack!" "Rhenish!"

[Illustration: "I WAS THAT BOY!"]
"Do ye think this a tavern, knaves?" responded Nell, in a husky, mannish
voice. "Do ye think this a vintner's? There are no topers here.
Jackanapes, revellers; awa