“Lubber Jan,” said Ysolinde, “what do you up there?”

The head only grinned and waggled pleasantly, as it had been through a horse-collar at Dantzig fair.

“Speak!” said she, and stamped her little foot; “I will shake thee with terrors else, monster!”

“Poor Jan came down from above.  It is quite easy!” he said.  “But not for horses.  Oh no! but now I will go and bring the Burgomeister.  Do you keep the castle while I go.  He bides below the town in a great house of stone, and entertains our Prince Miller’s Son’s archers.  I will bring all that are sober of them.”

“God help us then!” quoth Jorian; “it is past eleven o’ the clock, and as I know them man by man, there will not be so much as one left able to prop up another by this time!”

“Aha!” cried the head above; “you say that because you know the archers.  But I say I shall bring full twenty of them—­because I know the strength of the Burgomeister’s ale.  Hold the place for half an hour and twenty right sober men shall ye have.”

And with that the Lubber Fiend disappeared in a final avalanche of brick-dust and clay clods.

He was gone, and half an hour was a long time to wait.  Yet in such a case there was nothing for it but to stand it out.  So I besought the maids to retire again to their inner chamber, into which, at least, neither bullets nor arrows could penetrate.  This, after some little persuasion, they did.

We waited.  I have since that night fought many easier battles, and bloody battles, too.  Now and then a face would look in momentarily from the great outer door and vanish before any one could put a shot into it.  Next, ere one was aware, an arrow would whistle with a “Hisst!” past one’s breast-bone and stand quivering, head-covered in the clay.  Vicious things they were, too, steel-pointed and shafted with iron for half their length.

But all waitings come to an end, even that of him who waits on a fair woman’s arraying of herself.  Erdberg evidently did not know of the little party down at the Burgomeister’s below the pass of the ravine, or, knowing, did not care.  For, just as our half-hour was crawling to an end, with a unanimous yell a crowd of wild men with weapons in their hands poured in through the great door and ran shouting at our position.  At the same time the window at the end of the passage opened and a man leaped through.  Him I sharply attended to with the axe, and stood waiting for the next.  He also came, but not through the window.  He ran at me, head first, through the door, and, being stricken down, completely blocked it up.  Good service!  And a usefully bulky man he was.  But how he bled!—­Saint Christopher! that is the worst of bulky men, they can do nothing featly—­not even die!