At first they had built no fires at night. Now the force was so formidable that this precaution was unnecessary. The air was chill and there were tents for but a few of the troopers. The fires in the ravine always were surrounded by great circles of men, eagerly discussing the coming battle. At the upper end of the ravine were the tents of the officers, Prince Dantan and John Tullis. The latter shared his with King and Mr. Hobbs. Up here, the circle about the kindly pile of burning logs was small, select and less demonstrative. Here they smoked in silence most of the time, each man's thoughts delivered to himself.
Above, on the jutting rock, sat the disconsolate, lovesick Truxton. It was the night before the proposed assault on the gates. The guns were in position and the cannonading was to begin at daybreak. He was full of the bitterness of doubt and misgiving. Was she in love with Vos Engo? Was the Count's suit progressing favourably under the fire of the enemy? Was his undoubted bravery having its effect upon the wavering susceptibilities of the distressed Loraine?
Here was he, Truxton King, idle and useless for more than a week, beyond range of the guns of the foe, while down there was Vos Engo in the thick of it, at the side of the girl he loved in those long hours of peril, able to comfort her, to cheer her, to fight for her. It was maddening. He was sick with uncertainty, consumed by jealousy. His pipe was not out now: he was smoking furiously.
The sound of a voice in sharp command attracted his attention. One of the sentries in the road below the elbow of the ridge had stopped some one who was approaching the camp. There was a bright moon, and Truxton could see other pickets hurrying to join the first. A few moments later the trespassers were escorted through the lines and taken directly to headquarters. A man and two women, King observed. Somewhat interested, he sauntered down from his lonely boulder and joined the group of officers.
John Tullis was staring hard at the group approaching from the roadway. They were still outside the circle of light, but it was plain to all that the newcomers were peasants. The women wore the short red skirts and the pointed bonnets of the lower classes. Gaudy shawls covered their shoulders. One was tall and slender, with a bearing that was not peasant-like. It was she who held Tullis's intense, unbelieving gaze until they were well inside the fire-light. She walked ahead of her companions. Suddenly he sprang forward with a cry of amazement.