'
'Nonsense, Willie; the Black Brunswickers weren't till Bonaparte's
time.'
'I don't care, he is anything black and nasty; here goes!'
'Oh stop; don't shoot. I believe he is only a vivandiere. Besides,
it's treacherous--'
'I tell you he is laying a train to blow up the tower. There!'
An arrow struck the bench beside Dolores, who, more angry than she had
ever been in her life, snatched it up, unheeding that it had no point
to speak of, rushed headlong in pursuit, while, with a tremendous
shout, Valetta and Wilfred flew before her to a waste overgrown place
at the end of the kitchen garden.
'We've shot a Croat!'
'No, a Black Brunswicker.'
'Oh ah! They are coming--the enemy! Into the fortress! Bar the
wolf's passage!'
And as Dolores struggled through the bushes, she saw the whole family
dashing into an outhouse, and the door slammed. She pushed against it,
but an unearthly compound of howls, yells, shouts and bangs replied.
'Gillian! Harry, I say,' she cried in great anger; 'come out, I want
to speak to you.'
But her voice was lost in the war-whoops within, and the louder she
knocked, the louder grew the din, till she walked off, swelling with
grief and indignation. Mysie, after all her professions of friendship,
to use her in this way! And Harry and Gillian, who should have kept
the others within bounds!
Slowly she crossed the lawn, just as Lady Merrifield, the other two
aunts, and Fergus, all came out from the glass door of the drawing-
room.
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