“I will not treat without my lord’s commands, Captain Moseley, and I have listened to you longer than is expedient.  It is unjust to myself, and these brave defenders, that I appear in any way doubtful of their ability and courage.  For their sakes, and for my own, I must end this parley.”

The officer bowed low at this peremptory dismissal, wishing her ladyship’s resolutions were less firm or her means more ample.

“I can but deliver your reply.  Yet”—­He hesitated awhile.  “There be fierce and bloody men about the camp, who would lay down their own lives to compass your destruction.  It is not in our power to restrain them.”

“One of these flaming zealots is already extinguished:  we have him safe under cover,” said her ladyship, smiling; “in our own custody, I trow.  He threatened us with all the plagues of Egypt and that of his own tongue to boot,—­the worst that ere visited the garrison.  One morning, an earthquake would devour us; another, we were to be visited with the destruction of Sodom.  Some of our men once looked out for the coming tempest, and buffeted him well for their disappointment.  He seems either malignant or insane; but in charity, of which Christian exercise he seems utterly ignorant, we suppose the latter.  We have therefore made his feet fast in the stocks, from whence, I hear, he pronounces his anathemas as confidently as though he were armed with the power and thunders of the Vatican!”

“May I crave the name of this doughty personage?—­We have but too many of them amongst us.”

“Verily, ’tis your drum, by whose hands I have had a message heretofore.  The chances of war have again brought him hither,—­but now a prisoner!”

“Gideon Greatbatch?”

“The same.  We have heard him, with many blasphemous allusions, liken himself unto that great one among the judges of Israel,—­and truly he seems more fitted to wield the sword than the drum-stick!”

“Your ladyship would perhaps indulge me with an interview.  It might comfort him to see one from the camp.”

“Provided that no sinister design or advantage be lurking under this request.  Yet am I speaking, I would fain hope, to a gentleman and a soldier.”

Moseley was conducted down a dark flight of steps, damp and slippery.  The ooze and slime rendered his footing tedious and insecure.  Soon he recognised the mighty voice of Gideon bellowing forth a triumphant psalm.  Another stave was just commencing as the door opened, and the torch glared lurid and dismally on the iron features and grisly aspect of the captive.  A pair of rude stocks, through which Gideon’s long extremities protruded, stood in the middle of the dungeon.  He scowled terrifically at the intruders; but suddenly resumed his exercise.

“Still at thy devotions?” said Moseley; but the moody fanatic vouchsafed not to reply.

“We must wait the finishing of this duty, I fear,” said the captain, knowing that interruption would be useless.  Silently they awaited the conclusion, when Gideon abruptly cried out—­