“I cannot, nor could the Monacans.  But look at the printed part.”

I looked again, and saw that some one had very carefully underlined certain words.  These made a sentence, and read, “John, servant of the prophecy, is at hand.”

“The underlining may have been done long ago,” I hazarded.

“No, the ink is not a month old,” he said, and I could do nothing but gape.

“Well what’s your plan?” I said at last.

“None, but I would give my right hand to know what is behind the hills.  That’s our weakness, Andrew.  We have to wait here, and since we do not know the full peril, we cannot fully prepare.  There may be mischief afoot which would rouse every sleepy planter out of bed, and turn the Tidewater into an armed camp.  But we know nothing.  If we had only a scout—­“.

“What about Shalah?” I asked.

“Can you spare him?” he replied; and I knew I could not.

“I see nothing for it,” I said, “but to wait till we are ready, and then to make a reconnaissance, trusting to be in time.  This is the first week of July.  In another fortnight every man on our list will be armed, and every line of communication laid.  Then is our chance to make a bid for news.”

He nodded, and at that moment came the growling of dogs from the sheds.  Instantly his face lost its heavy preoccupation, and under his Quaker’s mask became the mischievous countenance of a boy.  “That’s your friends,” he said.  “Now for a merry meeting.”

In the sultry weather I had left open window and door, and every sound came clear from the outside.  I heard the scuffling of feet, and some confused talk, and presently there stumbled into my house half a dozen wild-looking figures.  They blinked in the lamplight, and one begged to know if “Mr. Garbled” were at home.  All had decked themselves for this play in what they fancied was the dress of pirates—­scarlet sashes, and napkins or turbans round their heads, big boots, and masks over their eyes.  I did not recognize a face, but I was pretty clear that Mr. Grey was not of the number, and I was glad, for the matter between him and me was too serious for this tomfoolery.  All had been drinking, and one at least was very drunk.  He stumbled across the floor, and all but fell on Ringan in his chair.

“Hullo, old Square-Toes,” he hiccupped; “what the devil are you?”

“Friend, thee is shaky on thy legs,” said Ringan, in a mild voice, “It were well for thee to be in bed.”

“Bed,” cried the roysterer; “no bed for me this night!  Where is that damnable Scots packman?”

I rose very quietly, and lit another lamp.  Then I shut the window, and closed the shutters.  “Here I am,” I said, “very much at your service, gentlemen.”

One or two of the sober ones looked a little embarrassed, but the leader, who I guessed was the youth from Gracedieu, was brave enough.