later he woke, found himself lying with his head in her lap.
She spoke first, in an imperative tone: "You are well now.
Your head does not ache. You are strong again."

"No. Yes," he murmured. Then more clearly: "Where am I?
Oh, I remember, I caught a lick on the head. What's become
of the brutes?"

Dickson, who had extracted food from the Mearns Street box and was
pressing it on the others, replied through a mouthful of Biscuit:
"We're in the old Tower. The three are lockit up in the House.
Are you feeling better, Mr. Heritage?"

The Poet suddenly realized Saskia's position and the blood came
to his pale face. He got to his feet with an effort and held
out a hand to the girl. "I'm all right now, I think. Only a little
dicky on my legs. A thousand thanks, Princess. I've given you
a lot of trouble."

She smiled at him tenderly. "You say that when you have risked
your life for me."

"There's no time to waste," the relentless Dougal broke in.
"Comin' over here, I heard a shot. What was it?"

"It was me," said Dickson. "I was shootin' at the factor."

"Did ye hit him?"

"I think so, but I'm sorry to say not badly. When I last saw him