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diff --git a/old/52962-0.txt b/old/52962-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 8e23470..0000000 --- a/old/52962-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10819 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Hugh Gwyeth, by Beulah Marie Dix - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Hugh Gwyeth - A Roundhead Cavalier - -Author: Beulah Marie Dix - -Release Date: September 5, 2016 [EBook #52962] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HUGH GWYETH *** - - - - -Produced by KD Weeks and the Online Distributed Proofreading -Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from -images generously made available by The Internet -Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - Transcriber’s Note: - -This version of the text cannot represent certain typographical effects. -Italics are delimited with the ‘_’ character as _italic_. The few -instances of blackletter font in the front matter use the ‘~’ as a -delimiter. - -Please consult the note at the end of this text for a discussion of any -textual issues encountered in its preparation. - - - - - HUGH GWYETH - - - A ROUNDHEAD CAVALIER - - - - - - - - -[Illustration] - - - - - - - - - HUGH GWYETH - A ROUNDHEAD CAVALIER - - - - - BY - - BEULAH MARIE DIX - - - - - - - - - ~New York~ - THE MACMILLAN COMPANY - LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD. - 1913 - - - _All rights reserved_ - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1899, - - BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. - - ------- - -Set up and electrotyped March, 1899. Reprinted May, July, 1899; January, -1900; October, 1908; January, 1913. - - - - - - - - - ~Norwood Press~ - J. S. Cushing & Co.—Berwick & Smith - Norwood Mass. U. S. A. - - - - - CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER PAGE - - I. Tidings out of the North 1 - II. How One set out to seek his Fortune 16 - III. The Road to Nottingham 34 - IV. To Horse and Away 49 - V. In and Out of the “Golden Ram” 66 - VI. The End of the Journey 81 - VII. How the World dealt by a Gentleman 95 - VIII. The Interposition of John Ridydale 113 - IX. The Way to War 132 - X. In the Trail of the Battle 152 - XI. Comrades in Arms 171 - XII. For the Honor of the Gwyeths 190 - XIII. In the Fields toward Osney Abbey 208 - XIV. Under the King’s Displeasure 224 - XV. The Life of Edmund Burley 242 - XVI. Roundheads and Cavaliers 258 - XVII. The Stranger by the Way 274 - XVIII. The Call out of Kingsford 290 - XIX. The Riding of Arrow Water 307 - XX. Beneath the Roof of Everscombe 324 - XXI. The Fatherhood of Alan Gwyeth 340 - XXII. After the Victory 358 - - - - - HUGH GWYETH - - A ROUNDHEAD CAVALIER - - - - - CHAPTER I - TIDINGS OUT OF THE NORTH - - -Up in the tops of the tall elms that overshadowed the east wing of -Everscombe manor house the ancient rooks were gravely wrangling. A faint -morning breeze swept the green branches and, as the leaves stirred, the -warm September sunlight smiting through fell in flakes of yellow on the -dark flagstones of the terrace below. For a moment Hugh Gwyeth ceased to -toss up and catch the ball in his hand, while he stood to count the -yellow spots that shifted on the walk. Eight, nine,—but other thoughts -so filled his head that there he lost count and once more took up his -listless tramp. - -Off to his left, where beyond the elms the lawn sloped down to the park, -he could hear the calls of the boys at play,—his Oldesworth cousins and -Aunt Rachel Millington’s sons. The Millingtons had come to Everscombe a -week before out of Worcestershire, where the king’s men were up in arms -and had plundered their house. Yet the young Millingtons were playing at -ball with the Oldesworth lads as if it were only a holiday. “Children!” -Hugh muttered contemptuously and, conscious of his own newly completed -sixteen years, threw an increased dignity into his step. He was a wiry -lad, of a slender, youthful figure, but for all that he carried himself -well and with little awkwardness. Neither was he ill-looking; though -there was a reddish tinge to his close-cut hair it changed to gold when -he came into the sunlight, and at all times there was in his blue eyes a -steady, frank look that made those who liked him forget the freckles -across the bridge of his nose and cheek bones, and the almost aggressive -squareness of his chin. - -Mouth and chin were even sullen now, as Hugh lingered a moment to glance -up at the small diamond panes of the window of the east parlor. Within, -Hugh’s grandfather, Gilbert Oldesworth, the master of Everscombe, his -sons, Nathaniel and Thomas, his daughter’s husband, David Millington, -and Roger Ingram, the lieutenant in Thomas Oldesworth’s troop of horse, -were conferring with men from Warwick on the raising of forces, the -getting of arms, and all the means for defending that part of the -county; and Peregrine, the eldest of the Oldesworth lads, was allowed to -be of their counsels. Hugh turned away sharply and resumed his dreary -tramp up and down the flagged terrace. “If I had been Uncle Nathaniel’s -son, they would have suffered me to be present as well as Peregrine,” he -muttered, pausing to dig the toe of his shoe into a crack between the -flagstones. “’Tis not just. I am near a man, and they might treat me—” -He gave the ball an extra high toss and paced on slowly. - -But, call as he would upon his injured dignity, he could not refrain -from facing about at the end of the walk and retracing his steps till he -was loitering once more beneath the window of the east parlor. He was -not listening, he told himself, nor was he spying; there was no harm in -walking on the east terrace of a morning, nor in lingering there to play -at ball. So he stood slipping the ball from hand to hand, but his eyes -were fixed on the little panes of the window above and his thoughts were -busy on what was happening within. Would the people of the hamlets round -about Everscombe, the farmers and ploughboys, who of a Sunday sat -stolidly in the pews of the village church at Kingsford, would they -truly resist their sovereign? The Oldesworths would head them, without -doubt, but how many others scattered through the county and all through -wide England were of the like mind? And what would come of it? Would -there be war in the land, such wars as Hugh had read the Greeks and -Romans had waged, such as the great German wars in which his own father -had borne a part? And if there was a war and brave deeds to do and fame -to win, would his grandfather and his uncles let him come and fight too, -or would they still shut him out with the little boys, as they had shut -him out to-day? - -So he was thinking, when of a sudden the window at which he had been -staring swung open, and Nathaniel Oldesworth, a mild-featured man of -middle age, looked out upon him. Hugh flushed suddenly and kept his eyes -on the ball he was still shifting from hand to hand. “You here, Hugh?” -his uncle’s voice reached him. “Take yourself off to your play.” - -“Ay, sir,” Hugh answered, and sauntered away down the walk. He kept his -chin up and his mouth was sulky, but in his boy’s heart every fibre of -awakening manhood was quivering at this last insult. Go play! when every -moment was big with events, when war was bursting on the land, and there -was work for every man to do, he was bidden to content himself with a -ball! - -He went slowly down the steps at the south end of the terrace and -bearing off from the stables struck through the long grass toward the -orchard. He walked with eyes on the ground, too deeply buried in his own -resentful thoughts to heed whither he was going, but he realized when he -entered the orchard, for the sunlight that had been all about him since -he quitted the terrace went out; he saw the earth was no longer grassy -but bald and brown, and he trod on a hard green apple that rolled under -his foot. - -A second small apple suddenly plumped to the ground before him, and a -girl’s voice called, “Hugh, Hugh.” - -The boy looked up. Just above his head, through the branches of the -great apple tree, he saw the face of Lois Campion, the orphan niece of -Nathaniel Oldesworth’s wife. “Are you hunting for snails?” she asked, -while her dark eyes laughed. “Prithee, give over now, like a good lad, -and help me hence. I have sat here half the morning for lack of an arm -to aid me.” - -She had slipped down the branches to the fork of the tree so that she -could rest her hands on Hugh’s shoulders, and as they came thus face to -face her tone changed: “Why, Hugh, what has gone wrong?” - -“Nothing,” he answered shortly, swinging her down to the ground. - -“You look as though you had eaten a very sour apple,” said Lois. “Try -these. There are sweet tastes in them, if you chew long enough.” She had -seated herself at the foot of the tree with her head resting against the -gnarled gray trunk. - -“It’s not apples I want,” Hugh replied gruffly, and then the troubled -look in the girl’s eyes made him sit down beside her with a thought of -saying something to make amends for his surliness; only words did not -come easily, for his mind could run on nothing but his own discontent. - -“I think I know,” Lois spoke gently and put her hand on his arm. “’Tis -because of Cousin Peregrine.” - -Hugh shook off her hand and dropped down full length on the ground with -his forehead pressing upon his arms; he felt it would be the crowning -humiliation of the morning if the girl should see the look on his face -at the mere mention of his trouble. - -For a time there was silence, except for the thud of a falling apple and -the soft rustle of leaves in the light wind; it was one of Lois’s best -comrade qualities, Hugh realized vaguely now, that she knew when to hold -her peace. It was he himself that renewed the conversation, when he felt -assured that he had himself too well in hand to let any childish -breaking be audible in his voice: “I wish my father had lived.” - -“I wish my parents had, too,” Lois answered quietly. - -“I did not wish it, when I spoke, because I loved them, I fear,” Hugh -went on, digging up the scant blades of grass about him with one hand; -“I do love them, but I did not think of it so, then. But I thought how, -when a lad hath a father alive, things are made easy for him,—no, not -easy; I do not mean skulking at home,—but he is helped to do a man’s -part. Now there was a good friend of mine, there at Warwick school, -Frank Pleydall; I’ve spoke of him to you. I was home with him once for -the holidays, to a great house in Worcestershire, where his father, Sir -William Pleydall, lives. And Frank had his own horses and dogs, and the -servants did his bidding, and—and his father is very fond of him.” Hugh -paused a moment, then gave words to the grievance nearest his heart: -“And Peregrine, now, because he is Uncle Nathaniel’s son, he is to have -a cornetcy in Uncle Thomas’s troop, and he will have a new horse,—I do -not begrudge it to Peregrine, but they might try me and see what I can -do.” - -“But, Hugh,” Lois ventured, “you are younger than Peregrine.” - -“Only two years and a half,” Hugh raised himself on one elbow, “and do -but feel the thick of my right arm there. And at Warwick school when -they taught us sword-play I learnt enough to worst Master Peregrine, I -am sure. And I can stick to my saddle as well as he, though I never have -anything to ride but a plough horse. And I have not even that now,” he -went on, with an effort at a laugh, “since all have been taken to mount -Uncle Thomas’s troop. But Peregrine will have a horse and a sword of his -own and go to the wars. Do you understand what ’tis I mean, Lois?” - -“Yes,” Lois replied with a downward look and a quiver of the mouth. “You -will think ’tis girl’s folly in me, but I have felt what you mean when I -have seen Martha and Anne have new gowns, and I must wear my old frock -still.” - -There was another long silence, broken this time by Lois. “Hugh,” she -half whispered, “I believe we are very wicked and ungrateful to our -kinsfolk.” - -“I do not believe so,” the boy answered doggedly; “they have given us -nothing but food and clothes, and one craves other things besides.” - -Lois nodded without speaking, then fetched a breath like a sob. “Lois!” -Hugh cried in honest alarm; he had never seen her thus before, “don’t -cry. I am ashamed I bore myself so unmanly to hurt you. Don’t cry.” He -took her hand in his, and tried to think of something comforting to say. - -Lois bit her lips and made not another sound till she could answer with -only a slight tremble: “What you spoke of, made me feel lonely.” - -“I am sorry I spoke so,” Hugh said contritely, still holding her hand. -“Shall we go look for apples now?” - -The girl shook her head: “Prithee, do not put me off, Hugh, and do not -reproach yourself; I am not sorry that you spoke so. You are the only -one to whom I can talk of such things, here at Everscombe.” - -“And you are the only one I have been able to talk to of anything that -touches me nearly, these two years since my mother died.—Do you know, -Lois, I sometimes think you look like her. She had brown hair like -yours, for she was a true Oldesworth and dark. Now I am a Gwyeth, and so -I come rightly by my red hair.” - -“You shall not slander it so,” Lois interrupted. - -“Aunt Delia calls it red. I care not for the color, but I’d like to let -it grow.” Hugh ran his fingers through his cropped hair. - -“Would you turn Cavalier?” Lois asked half seriously. - -“Most gentlemen wear their hair long; even my grandfather and Uncle -Nathaniel, for all they hold to Parliament.” - -“Master Thomas Oldesworth has cut his close; he says all soldiers do so -in Germany.” - -“My father did not,” Hugh answered quickly. “And he had more experience -in the German wars than ever Uncle Tom will have.” - -“Tell me about him again, Hugh, if you will,” Lois begged. - -The boy slipped down till he rested on his elbow once more. “There is -not much I can tell,” he began, but his face was eager with interest in -the old story. “I remember little of those times, but my mother was ever -telling me of him. His name was Alan Gwyeth; ’tis a Welsh name, and he -had Welsh blood in him. They put him to school, but he ran away to -follow the wars in the Low Countries. Later he was here in Warwickshire -to raise men who’d adventure for the German wars, and he met my mother, -and they loved each other, so they married. My grandfather and Uncle -Nathaniel did not like my father, so he left the kingdom straightway, -and she went with him on his campaigns in Germany. I was born there; I -think I can remember it, just a bit. A porcelain stove with tiles, and -the story of Moses upon them; and a woman with flaxen hair who took care -of me; and my father, I am sure I remember him, a very tall man with -reddish hair and blue eyes, who carried me on his shoulder.” Hugh’s look -strayed beyond the girl and he was silent a time. “Then it all ended and -we came home to England. I remember the ship and I was sick; and then -the great coach we rode in from Bristol; and how big Everscombe looked -and lonesome, and my mother cried.” - -“And—and your father?” Lois asked timidly. - -“He died,” Hugh answered softly. “My mother never told me how, but it -must have been in battle, for he was a very brave soldier, she said. And -he was the tenderest and kindest man that ever lived, and far too good -for her, she said, but I do not believe that. And just before she died -she told me I must try always to be like him, a true-hearted gentleman -and a gallant soldier.—I am glad I look like him, and then, sometimes,” -Hugh’s tone grew more dubious, “but usually ’tis when I have done wrong, -Aunt Delia says I am my father over again.” - -“Aunt Delia has a sharp tongue,” said Lois with a sigh. - -“I know it well,” Hugh answered ruefully. - -“But still, she has a kind heart,” the girl was amending charitably, -when from across the orchard came a shrill call of “Hugh,” which ended -in a high-pitched howl. - -Lois rose and peering under her hand gazed out into the sunlight of the -level grass beyond the apple trees. “’Tis Sam Oldesworth,” she said, and -as she spoke a boy of thirteen or fourteen years broke headlong into the -shade of the orchard. - -“Where have you been, Hugh?” he panted. “Have you my ball safe? I’ve -looked everywhere for you.” - -“For the ball? There ’tis,” Hugh replied. - -“Nay, not for that. There’s something up at the house for you.” - -“What is it?” Hugh came to his feet at a jump, while his thoughts sped -bewilderingly to swords, horses, and commissions. - -“Guess,” replied Sam. - -Hugh turned his back and walked away toward the manor house at a -dignified pace; it would not do to let a young sprig like Sam know his -curiosity and eagerness. But Lois, having no such scruples, teased her -cousin with questions till the boy, bubbling over with the importance of -the news, admitted: “Well, the post from the north has come, and there -is something for Hugh in the east parlor.” - -“A letter?” Hugh queried with momentary disappointment in his tone. But -though a letter was not as good as a commission it was something he had -never had before in his life, so he quickened his step and with high -expectations entered the east wing and passed through the small hall to -the parlor. - -The door stood open, and opposite the sunlight from the window, still -flung wide, lay in a clear rectangle upon the dark floor. About the -heavy oak table in the centre of the room, in speech of the news brought -from the north by the freshly arrived letters, sat or stood in knots of -two or three the grave-faced men of the conference. At the head of the -table, where the sunlight fell upon his long white hair, sat Master -Gilbert Oldesworth, an erect man with keen eyes and alert gestures, in -spite of his seventy years. Hugh also caught sight of Peregrine and -noted, with a certain satisfaction, that this fortunate cousin sat at -the foot of the table and seemed to have small share in the business in -hand. But next moment he had enough to do to give heed to his own -concerns, for Nathaniel Oldesworth called him by name and he must enter -to receive his letter. He felt his cheeks burn with the consciousness -that strangers had their eyes on him and that he must appear to them a -mere dishevelled, awkward schoolboy; he grew angry with himself for his -folly, and his face burned even more. Scarcely daring to raise his eyes, -he caught up the letter his uncle held out to him and slipped back again -into the hall. - -Sam pounced upon him at once. “What is it?” he demanded, and Lois’s eyes -asked the same question. - -Hugh forgot the hot embarrassment and misery of a moment before, as he -turned the letter in his hand. “I don’t know the writing,” he said, -prolonging the pleasure while he examined the superscription; then he -tore open the paper, and the first sight of the sheet of big sprawling -black letters was enough. “Ah, but I do know!” he cried. “’Tis from -Frank Pleydall, Lois.” - -“Your school friend?” - -“Yes. I have not heard from him these six months, since he left the -school. Doctor Masham, the master, said the queen was a Babylonish -woman, and when Sir William heard of that he came to the school in a -great rage and called Doctor Masham a canting Puritan and a hoary-headed -traitor,--truly, the Doctor is but little older and not a bit more white -headed than Sir William himself. And he took Frank away, and—I was right -sorry to lose him.” - -“But you have found him again now,” said Lois. “Come, Sam.” She coaxed -the youngster, still reluctant and lingering, out upon the terrace, and -Hugh, happy in being alone, set himself down at once on the stairway -that led from the hall to the upper story. It was hard to find a -secluded place in Everscombe those days, what with the men from Thomas -Oldesworth’s troop quartered in the old west wing, and the Millingtons -and other refugee kinsfolk in the main part of the house. So in the fear -that a noisy cousin or two might come to interrupt him, Hugh settled -himself hastily and began his letter:— - -GOOD HUGH: - -It has come to my remembrance that it is many days since you have had -news of me, so at a venture I send this letter to your grandfather’s -house, though the roads are so beset and the post so delayed it is -doubtful if it ever reach you. I am here at Nottingham with my father. -He commands a notable troop of horse, drawn out of our own county, and -many of them men bred on our own lands, proper stout fellows, that will -make the rebels to skip, I promise you. My father is colonel, and some -of my cousins and uncles and neighboring gentlemen hold commissions, and -I think I shall prevail upon my father to bestow one on me, though he -maintains I be over-young, which is all folly. The king’s standard was -raised here week before last, and we all nigh split our throats with -cheering. The town is full of soldiers and gentlemen from all over the -kingdom, and many from following the wars abroad, and more coming every -day. I have seen his Majesty the king,—God bless him! He rode through -the street and he hath a noble face and is most gracious and kingly. I -do not see how men can have the wickedness to take up arms against him. -I have also seen his nephew, Prince Rupert, the famous German soldier, -who they say shall have a great command in the war. My father has had -speech with him and he commended our troop most graciously. It has been -the most memorable time of all my life, and, best of all, I shall never -go back to school now, but go to the wars. I would you might be with us, -Hugh, for it is the only life for gentlemen of spirit. Heaven keep you -well, and if this reaches you, write me in reply. - - Your loving friend to serve you, - - FRANCIS PLEYDALL. - -NOTTINGHAM, Sept. 5, 1642. - -I misremembered to tell you. Among the soldiers come from Germany is a -certain Alan Gwyeth, a man of some forty years, with hair reddish gold -like yours. It is an odd name and I thought perhaps he might be some -kinsman of yours. We met with him the day the standard was raised, and I -would have questioned him myself, but my father said I was over-forward -and I had to hold my peace. Did your father leave any brothers or -cousins in Germany? This man is a notable soldier and has got him a -colonelcy under the Prince. - - F. P. - -Hugh sat staring at the paper and saw the black letters and the words -but found no meaning in them. Across the dim hall he could see through -the open door the strip of greensward that ran across the front of -Everscombe, part black with the shadow of the east wing and part -dazzling bright with the noon sun. He fixed his gaze upon the clean line -where the shade gave way to vivid light, till the sunny greenness -blurred before his eyes; he felt the roughness of the paper, as he -creased and recreased it with nervous fingers, but he could not think; -he could only feel that something vast and portentous was coming into -his life. - -A noise of tramping feet and a burst of voices roused him. The -conference ended, the men came slowly from the east parlor, and lingered -speaking together, then scattered, some with Nathaniel Oldesworth into -the main part of the house, some with Thomas Oldesworth out upon the -terrace. Master Gilbert Oldesworth was not among them, Hugh noted, and -on a sudden impulse he half ran across the hall and entered the east -parlor, closing the door behind him. - -Master Oldesworth looked up from the paper over which he had been -poring. “You would speak with me, Hugh?” he asked, with a touch of -displeasure in his tone. - -“If I may. ’Tis important,” Hugh stammered. “Will you look at this -letter? No, not all, just this place, sir.” - -Hugh stood at his grandfather’s side, griping the edge of the table so -he saw the blood leave his fingers. In the elms outside the open window -the rooks still scolded, and over in the corner of the room the great -clock ticked loudly, but there was no other sound till Hugh had counted -thrice sixty of its noisy ticks. Then the boy drew a quick breath, and, -dreading what he might find, raised his eyes to his grandfather’s face. -But he saw no sign there for several moments, not till Master Oldesworth -had laid down Frank Pleydall’s letter, and then Hugh perceived there was -something akin to pity in the old man’s eyes. - -“Well, Hugh, and what would you know?” he asked. - -“That man, Alan Gwyeth, is he—” Hugh felt and knew what the answer would -be before Master Oldesworth spoke the words slowly: “Yes, Hugh, ’tis -your father.” - - - - - CHAPTER II - HOW ONE SET OUT TO SEEK HIS FORTUNE - - -“You must have known at last, but I had not thought it would be so -soon,” Master Oldesworth went on. “’Twas folly ever to have kept it from -you.” - -In a blind way Hugh had groped for a chair and sat down with his elbow -on the table and his forehead pressing hard upon his hand. His face was -toward the window and he was aware of the brightness flooding in through -it, but he could see clearly only his grandfather’s thin, clean-shaven -lips and searching eyes. “Tell me,” he found voice to say at last, “I -want to know all. My father—he has been alive all these years? You -knew?” - -Master Oldesworth nodded. - -“You deceived me?” Hugh’s voice rose shrill and uncontrollable. “You -knew you were deceiving me? You had no right, ’twas wickedness, ’twas—” - -“It was your mother’s wish.” - -The burst of angry words was choked in Hugh’s throat; with a little -shudder of the shoulders he dropped his head upon his folded arms. “Will -you tell me wherefore, sir?” he asked in a dull tone. - -“Because of the never-dying folly of woman,” Master Oldesworth replied, -with a sudden fierce harshness of tone that made Hugh lift his head. He -felt that, if the revelation of the letter had not made every other -happening of that day commonplace, he would have been surprised at the -sudden lack of control that made his grandfather’s sallow cheeks flush -and his thin lips move. But in a moment Master Oldesworth was as calm of -demeanor as before and his voice was quite colorless when he resumed: -“Hear the truth at last, Hugh, and you, too, will have reason to curse -the folly of womankind. She, your mother, my best-beloved daughter, was -most wilful, even from a child. Though you have none of her look I have -noted in you something of her rash temper. Her own impulse and desire -must always be her guides, and well they guided her. For there came a -swashbuckling captain of horse out of Germany, with a brisk tongue and -an insolent bearing, for which that mad girl put all her love on him, -worthless hackster though he was.” - -“’Tis my father whom you speak of so?” Hugh cried, with an involuntary -clinching of the hands. - -“Your mother’s work again!” said Master Oldesworth with a flicker of a -smile, that was half sad and half contemptuous. “She fled away from her -father’s house to marry this swaggering rascal; she followed him into -Germany; and there she found true all her kinsmen had told her of his -worthlessness and wickedness. So she took her child and gladly came back -to us again.” - -“She never uttered word of this to me,” Hugh maintained doggedly. - -“I urged her to,” Master Oldesworth continued, “but, with the weakness -of her sex, before six months were out she had forgot his unworthiness -and baseness. She remembered only that she loved him and she blamed -herself that she had left him; indeed, she would have returned if she -had been assured he would receive her back. But I forbade her hold -communication with him while she dwelt beneath my roof, and he himself -did not care to seek her out, though she long looked for him. When he -did not come she was the more convinced the fault was hers, and, since -she had robbed her son of his father, as she phrased it, she would at -least give him a true and noble conception of that father to cherish. -Perhaps she held it compensation for the wrong she thought she had -worked Alan Gwyeth that she sketched him unto you a paragon of all -virtues. And partly for that he was dead to her, and partly for that she -would not have the shame of her flight, as she called her most happy -deliverance, be known to you, she gave him out to you as dead. ’Twas ill -done, but I suffered her to rule you as she would; I had ever a weak -fondness for her.” - -With a sudden jarring noise Hugh thrust back his chair and stumbling to -the window stood so Master Oldesworth could not see his face. His poor -mother, his poor mother! Because he knew in his heart she had done ill -to him with her weak deceptions he loved her and pitied her all the -more, and his eyes smarted with repressed tears that he could not see -her nor tell her that it all mattered little, the agony this -disillusionment was costing him; he knew she had meant it kindly and he -thanked her for it. - -He was still staring out between the elms at the sloping lawn, where, he -remembered as if it had happened years back, he had played that very -morning like a boy, when his grandfather’s dry tones reached him: “This -man would seem to have roistered through life without thought of her. Of -late I did not know myself whether he were dead or living, but it seems -he is sailing on the high waves of royal favor and has found himself -fitting comradeship among the profligates and traitors of King Charles’s -camp.” - -Hugh swept his hand across his eyes and faced about squarely. His father -a profligate who had abandoned his mother! Who dared say it or believe -it? His mother’s face as she had looked before she died came back to -him. A true-hearted gentleman and a gallant soldier, like his -father,—like his father. - -“And you never suspected anything of the truth ere this?” Master -Oldesworth pursued. - -“Once, months back, Aunt Delia told me a story somewhat like this,” -Hugh’s voice came low but so firm it surprised him, “but I held it only -some of her spitefulness and I did not believe it.” - -Master Oldesworth looked up with a curious expression. “Do you believe -it now?” he asked. - -“No,” Hugh answered honestly, then quickly added, “I crave your pardon, -sir, but I cannot believe it.” - -“Have back this letter of yours,” Master Oldesworth said, rising, and as -Hugh came up to him he put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You have a -loyal heart, Hugh Gwyeth,” he said dryly, “and ’tis no shame of yours -you have such a father.” - -“I am not ashamed of him, sir,” Hugh replied stoutly. - -“You are your mother over again,” said the old man, in a tone that held -something of vexation and something of amusement, yet more of kindliness -than he was accustomed to show his orphan grandson. - -Hugh was in no mood to note this, however, but, delaying only to take -his precious letter, left the east parlor at a brisk step that verged -upon a run. Once in the open air, where he was freed from the restraint -of his grandfather’s presence, he leaped down the low terrace and, -hallooing at the top of his lungs, raced full speed across the lawn. But -when the shadow of the tall oaks on the border of the park fell upon him -the noisiness of his joy somewhat abated. He rambled on more slowly with -a happy under-consciousness of the dusky green of the old trees about -him and the shimmer of the stray sunbeams; he wondered that the dull, -familiar park seemed so joyous and beautiful a place. - -Not till he had crossed the grassy roadway that led to the manor house, -and plunged into the thicker growth of trees, did he come again to the -power of framing connected thoughts. Little by little he let his pace -slacken, till at length he flung himself down in the shade of a beech -tree and pulling out Frank’s letter read the last sentences aloud. His -father was alive, an officer in the king’s army, at Nottingham, only the -width of two counties away. Hugh clasped his hands behind his head and -lying back gazed up unwinkingly at the cloudless blue sky; in his heart -there was no room for any feeling save that of pure happiness, of which -the bright day seemed a mere reflection. For he neither remembered nor -heeded the words his grandfather had spoken of Alan Gwyeth; he only knew -that a few score miles away the tall man with reddish hair and blue -eyes, who used to carry him upon his shoulder, was alive and waiting for -him. - -The resolve formed in these hours of reflection he told to Lois Campion, -when, late in the afternoon, he crashed his way out to the edge of the -park with the briskness of one who has made up his mind. The girl was -playing at shuttlecock with Martha Oldesworth, but at sight of Hugh she -quickly laid aside her battledoor and came to him where he was lingering -for her beneath the oaks. “Where have you been?” she cried. “We missed -you at dinner, and Peregrine, who was honey-tongued as ever, said you -were sulking. But I knew ’twas some witchery in that letter.” - -Hugh laughed excitedly. “Witchery? Ay, ’twas that indeed, Lois. Can you -believe it? My father is alive, at the king’s camp; and I have -determined to go to him.” - -With that he made her sit down beside him and told her all, so -confidently and happily she dared not venture more than one objection: -“But ’tis a long way to Nottingham, Hugh.” - -“I can walk it. Take no heed to the way, Lois, but think of the end.” - -“When shall you go?” she asked, playing absently with some acorns she -had gathered in her hand. - -“To-morrow night.” - -“So soon?” The acorns fell neglected to the ground. - -“Nay, ’tis delaying over-long. I would set out this very night, but I -suppose I should take some time for preparation.” - -“And you must run from home by night?” she repeated sadly. - -“Like Dick Whittington. I wonder if I have such good fortune as he.” - -“How happy your father will be to see you!” Lois continued. - -“’Twill be naught but happiness for us all,” Hugh ran on boisterously. -“Ah, must you go, Lois?” - -“I must finish my game with Martha,” the girl answered steadily. Hugh -saw, however, that she did not go near Martha but walked away to the -house, and he was vexed because she did not care enough about his -departure to stay to talk with him. - -It was well for Hugh the day was nearly spent, if his plans were to be -kept secret; for he longed to speak of them, and, now Lois would not -listen, there was no one in whom he could safely confide. Moreover, Sam -Oldesworth was so curious about the letter that it was a perilously -great temptation to hint to him just a little, especially when the two -boys were preparing for bed. Since the Millingtons had come to -Everscombe Sam and Hugh had been obliged to sleep together, an -arrangement never acceptable to the older boy and this night even -dangerous. Fortunately he realized his weakness enough to reply shortly -to all his companion’s eager questions, however gladly he would have -told something of his secret, till Sam at last grumbled himself to -sleep. But Hugh turned on his side and for hours lay staring into the -dark of the chamber, planning for his journey and sometimes wondering -where he would be in the blackness of the next night. - -In the morning, when he first woke and lay gazing at the familiar room, -it gave him a feeling of surprisingly keen regret to tell himself that -this was his last day at Everscombe. Perhaps it was the outward aspect -of the day that made him feel so depressed, for a slow, drizzling rain -was falling and the sky was thick with gray clouds. - -All the morning Hugh avoided his cousins, and even Lois, against whom -the resentment of the previous afternoon still lasted, and prowled -restlessly about the house to pay farewell visits to the rooms that he -had known. Thus his Aunt Delia found him, loitering upon the garret -stairs, and sharply bade him go about his business, so Hugh, his -sensitive dignity a-quiver, drew back to his chamber, where he pretended -to choose equipments for his journey. In reality it was a simple matter; -he would wear his stuff jacket and breeches,—he owned no other suit of -clothes,—and his one pair of stout shoes. He did not trouble himself -about clean linen, but he took pains to see that his pistol was in -order; it was an old one that had belonged to Peregrine, before he -received a case of new ones in keeping with his position as cornet in -the Parliament’s army. Peregrine’s old riding boots had also fallen to -Hugh’s share; they were a trifle too big and were ill patched, but there -was something trooper-like about them that made him sorry when he -realized that he could not take them with him. He reluctantly dropped -them back into the wardrobe, and then, the sight of them reminding him -he had yet to bid farewell to his friends the horses, he spattered out -through the rain to the stables. - -The stones of the stable yard were slippery and wet; at the trough in -the centre three horses, with their coats steaming, were drinking, while -the man at their heads, one of Tom Oldesworth’s newly levied troopers, -joked noisily with a little knot of his comrades. Inside the big dark -stable a great kicking and stamping of horses was rumblingly audible -above the loud talk of the men at work. Hugh loitered into the confusion -and, making his way through the main building, entered the quieter wing, -where were the old family horses with whom he had acquaintance. But when -he stepped through the connecting door he perceived that even here -others were before him; standing with hands behind him and legs somewhat -wide, as befitted a veteran horse-soldier, was Tom Oldesworth, a -close-shaven, firm-mouthed man of thirty, in talk with his lieutenant, -Roger Ingram. Near by stood Peregrine Oldesworth, a heavy-featured, dark -lad, who was bearing his part in the conversation quite like a man. -Whatever the matter was, they seemed too merry over it for any business -of the troop, so Hugh thought it no harm to saunter over to them. - -“Looking for a commission, eh, Hugh?” Tom Oldesworth broke off his talk -to ask jestingly. - -“Not under you, sir,” Hugh retorted, rather sharply. - -Oldesworth laughed and patted his head. “Never mind, my Roundhead,” he -said cheerfully, as Hugh ducked out of his reach, “your turn’ll come -soon. No doubt Peregrine will get a ball through his brains ere the -winter be over, and then I promise you his place.” - -“Then you think the war will last till winter?” questioned Ingram. - -“Till winter? I tell you, Roger, we’re happy if we have a satisfactory -peace in the land two full years hence.” - -“You’re out there, Captain. These gallants of the king’s will stand to -fight here no better than they stood against the Scots. They’ll be beat -to cover ere snow fall—” - -“Pshaw!” replied Oldesworth, convincingly. “Look you here, Roger.” -Thereupon the two fell to discussing the king’s resources and those of -Parliament, and comparing the merits of commanders, and quoting the -opinions of leaders, till Hugh tired of it all and strolled away. - -He passed slowly down the line of stalls, caressing the soft muzzles of -the kindly horses, and lingered a time to admire the big black charger -that belonged to Captain Oldesworth. In the next stall stood a -clean-limbed bay, which thrust out its head as if expecting notice; Hugh -hesitated, then began stroking the velvety nose, when Peregrine -swaggered up to him with a grand, “Don’t worry that horse of mine, -Hugh.” - -“I was not worrying him,” Hugh answered hotly. “But you can be sure I’ll -never touch him again.” He turned and walked away toward the open door. - -“Oh, you can touch him now and then,” Peregrine replied, as he followed -after him out into the courtyard, where the rain had somewhat abated. -“But he’s too brave a beast for you youngsters to be meddling with all -the time. You’d spoil his temper.” Then, as Hugh still kept a sulky -silence, his cousin asked abruptly, “What’s amiss with you to-day?” - -“Nothing.” - -“You’ve not been friendly of late. I believe you are jealous that I have -a commission.” - -“I do not want your commission,” Hugh replied, and to show he spoke the -truth he forced a laugh and tried to say carelessly, as he might have -said a month before, “Tell you what I do want, though: a new flint for -my pistol. Will you not give me one, Peregrine?” - -“Are you going to shoot Cavaliers?” the elder boy asked, as he halted to -fumble in his pockets. - -“Maybe.” - -Peregrine drew out three bits of flint, turned them in his hand, then -gave the least perfect to Hugh. “I took it from my new pistol this -morning,” he explained. “’Tis good enough for any service you’ll need of -it.” - -Hugh bit his lip, but with a muttered word of thanks took the flint. - -“I was furbishing up my weapons this morning,” Peregrine went on. “We go -on real service next week; we determined on it yesterday at the -conference.” - -“I thought Uncle Tom said the troop would not be in fit condition to -serve for a fortnight.” - -“Not all the troop. But Uncle Tom, and I, and Lieutenant Ingram, are to -take some thirty men that are in trim and go into Staffordshire to see -what can be done among the godly people thereabouts.” - -“Good luck to you, Peregrine,” Hugh forced himself to say, then shook -off his companion and, passing from the stable yard, trudged away -through the wet grass, with the old jealous pang worrying him as -savagely as ever. But soon he told himself that his father would -probably give him a horse and good weapons too, and, being a colonel in -the king’s army, would very likely let him go to the wars with him, -perhaps even give him a commission; and, thinking still of his father, -by the time he returned to the house he had quite forgotten Peregrine. - -The rain had nearly ceased; there seemed even a prospect of a clear -sunset, and with the lightening of the weather Hugh cast aside the heavy -feeling of half-regretful parting which had weighed on him all day and -grew impatient for darkness, when he could set out on his journey. But -the night came slowly, as any other night, with a rift of watery sunset -in the west and mottled yellow clouds, that fading gave place to the -long, gray twilight, which deepened imperceptibly. - -Hugh started early to his room, which was in the east wing, so he went -by the staircase from the little hall. Halfway up, as he strode two -steps at a time, he almost stumbled over a slight figure that caught at -his arm. “Lois!” he cried. - -The girl rose to her feet. “Why are you angry with me, Hugh?” she asked, -and though he could not see her face he knew by her voice she was almost -sobbing. - -“Why did you run away from me yesterday?” he replied, feeling foolish -and without excuse. - -“No matter. I have forgot. But I wanted to have speech with you.” - -“You waited here to bid me farewell? ’Twas good of you, Lois,” Hugh -blurted out. “I am sorry I was so rough to you about yesterday.” - -“Then we’ll part still friends?” Lois said eagerly. “And here is -something you are to take with you.” - -“Your five shillings?” Hugh broke out, as she pressed the coins into his -hand. “Nay, Lois, I cannot.” - -“You must; ’twill be a long journey, and you have little money, I know. -And I shall never have need of such a hoard. Prithee, take it, Hugh, -else I shall think you still are angry because I left you yesterday. But -truly, ’twas only that I could not bear the thought of your going.” She -was crying now in good earnest, and Hugh tried awkwardly to soothe her -and whisper her some comfort: he wished she were a boy and could go with -him, perhaps even now he could come back some time and fetch her; he -never would forget what a good friend she had been to him; and much more -he was saying, when Martha’s voice came from below in the dusk of the -hall: “Lois.” - -“I must go,” the girl whispered. “Farewell, Hugh.” - -“Farewell, Lois.” - -“God keep you, dear, always.” - -He heard her go slowly down the stairs and wished she had stayed with -him longer; he might have said more cheering things. Then he heard the -footsteps of the two girls die away in the hall, and he went on to his -room. - -He had placed his pistol on a chair beneath his cloak and hat, and had -just lain down in his undergarments and stockings beneath the coverings, -when Sam came in full of conversation, which Hugh’s short replies -quickly silenced. But after the boy had lain down Hugh remembered that -this was the last night they would sleep together, and, repenting his -shortness, he said gently: “Good night, Sam.” - -“What’s wrong with you?” asked his cousin, which made Hugh feel foolish -and answer curtly, “Nothing.” - -Then there was a long silence in the dark chamber, till at length Sam -was breathing deep and evenly. He was well asleep, Hugh assured himself, -so, slipping quietly from the bed, he quickly drew on his outer clothes, -put on cloak and hat, and tucked the pistol in his belt. He was just -taking his shoes in his hand, when Sam stirred and asked drowsily: “What -are you doing now?” - -“I saw Martha’s battledoor out o’ doors,” Hugh mumbled. “I must fetch it -or the dew will spoil it.” - -Sam gave a sleepy sigh, then buried his head in the pillow again, and -Hugh, waiting for no more, stole out of the room into the darkness of -the corridor that was so thick it seemed tangible. He scuffed cautiously -to the stairs and with his hand on the railing groped his way down. As -he went he grew more accustomed to the blackness, and so, treading -carefully, came without stumbling or noise to the outer door. He worked -back the bolt, cautiously and slowly, and with a nervous start at each -faint creak, till at last he could push the door open far enough to slip -through. The grass felt cold beneath his stockinged feet; the night wind -came damp and chilly against his face. With a shiver that was not all -from cold he drew the door to, more quickly than he had thought, for the -metal work jarred harshly. - -With a feeling that the whole household must be aroused he ran -noiselessly across the terrace, and, pausing only to draw on his shoes, -struck briskly through the wet grass toward the park. At its outskirts -he halted and, glancing back, took a last look at Everscombe, black and -silent under the stars. Only in one window, that of his grandfather’s -chamber in the main building, was a candle burning, and the thought of -the habitable room in which it shone made the night seem darker and -lonelier. Hugh looked quickly away, and calling up his resolution -plunged in among the trees. - -He had meant to go through to the highway by a footpath, but the woods -were blacker than he had thought for; again and again he missed the -track, till at last, finding himself on the beaten roadway from the -manor house, he decided the quicker course was to follow it. He had -covered perhaps half the distance and was trudging along with his head -bent to look to his footsteps, when from the thicket just before him -came a voice: “Stand, there!” - -Hugh stopped where he was, half frightened for the instant, then half -inclined to run, when an erect figure stepping from beneath a -neighboring tree barred his path. By the long cloak and the staff on -which the man leaned Hugh guessed it was his grandfather, even before -Master Oldesworth spoke again: “So you are leaving us, Hugh Gwyeth?” - -“Yes, sir,” Hugh replied defiantly. - -“So I had judged. You are bound for the near park gate?” - -Hugh nodded. - -“You must bear with my company that far.” - -So side by side they passed down the dark roadway, till presently the -trees thinned and the starlight reached them. Then Hugh glanced up at -his companion’s face but found it fixed in so stern an expression that -he did not care to look again. - -“You are going to your father?” Master Oldesworth queried after a time. - -“Yes, sir,” Hugh replied. The defiance had gone from his tone now. - -At length the dimly seen roadway ran between two huge dark pillars, half -hidden by the trees; it was the park gate, Hugh saw, and beyond was the -king’s highway. Involuntarily he slackened his pace, and his grandfather -halted too, and stood by one of the pillars, resting both hands upon the -top of his staff. “Then you have the grace to hesitate a moment,” the -old man spoke, “before you leave those who have sheltered you?” - -Hugh dared not trust his voice to reply, and after a moment Master -Oldesworth continued slowly: “It is your mother over again. We reared -her and cared for her, and she left us for Alan Gwyeth; and you—Have you -not had a home here?” - -“Yes, sir,” Hugh answered meekly. He knew well that the grievances which -were so true when he told them to Lois would be nothing in his -grandfather’s sight. - -“And what has this father for whom you leave us done for you?” Master -Oldesworth pursued. “You cannot answer? He broke your mother’s heart and -deserted you—” - -“He is my father,” Hugh replied. - -“Go to him, then, as your mother did before you. But mark you this, Hugh -Gwyeth: I received her back when Alan Gwyeth wearied of her, but I shall -never receive you back. Go now, and you go for all time.” - -“I shall never ask you to take me back.” Hugh tried to speak stoutly, -but his voice faltered in an ignoble manner. - -“Now consider well,” his grandfather continued. “When you pass the gate -it will be to me as if you had never lived. Be not rash, Hugh,” he went -on more gently. “Come back with me to the house; this folly of yours -shall never be known, and I shall look to your welfare as I always have. -But if you choose to go to that place of perdition, the king’s camp, and -to that evil man, Alan Gwyeth, I forget you are my daughter’s son. Now -make your choice between that man and me.” - - - - - CHAPTER III - THE ROAD TO NOTTINGHAM - - -Over in the marsh beyond the dim highway the frogs were piping their -lonesome note; the shrilling call of autumnal insects sounded from the -wayside; of a sudden the waste darkness reëchoed with solitary noises. -All came clearly to Hugh’s ear in the hush that followed his -grandfather’s words, and with them something that was akin to fright -laid hold on him. Outside the park gate the world looked vast and black; -he felt himself weak in his youthfulness, so even the butt of his pistol -for which he groped did not strengthen his courage. He looked to his -grandfather and involuntarily made a step toward him, but Master -Oldesworth still stood with his hands upon the top of his staff and -watched him but made no sign. With a stinging sense of rebuff Hugh drew -back and held himself quiet, while he strove to think clearly and so -make his resolution without prejudice. But all the time he felt that -invisible hands were surely haling him back to Everscombe and with his -whole will he struggled against them. “Will it be ended past question -when I go out at the gateway?” he cried, almost before his thought had -framed the words. - -He did not even wait for an assent, but as he spoke stepped out beyond -the pillars of the gate into the rough highway. There he faced about -suddenly. “Grandfather,” he cried, “I—I am grateful for all you have -done for me. Prithee, forgive me.” The words died away then, for he saw -Master Oldesworth had turned and was walking slowly toward Everscombe, -nor did he once look back. - -For an instant it was borne in on Hugh to run after his grandfather, to -implore pardon, to beg to be taken back and suffered to live the old -dull life at the manor house; then the impulse left him and he was more -ashamed of it than of his previous wavering. Still he lingered by the -gate, straining his eyes into the dusk of the park till long after he -had lost sight of Master Oldesworth. Once more he became aware of the -sad piping of frogs in the marsh, and he listened stupidly, while -heavier and heavier he felt the weight of loneliness press upon him. For -he now realized that his decision had indeed been irrevocable; for all -time he was cut off from his kinsfolk and his only home. - -When at last he turned slowly from the gateway there was no hopefulness -in his step nor did he lift his eyes from the ground, unless to glance -up at the familiar trees of the park that he should not see again. But -at length, through the branches before him, he beheld Charles’s Wain -shining clear and the bright Pole Star that seemed to point him -northward to the king and to his father. At that Hugh straightened his -drooping shoulders resolutely and in good earnest set forth upon his -journey. - -The new moon had long been set, but the stars were bright and the way -amid the trees was plain to follow. A pleasant freshness of the early -fall was in the faint night breeze and yet a lurking chill, that made -Hugh glad to draw his cloak closer and trudge on more briskly. It was -not long after midnight when he reached the first cottage on the -outskirts of the village of Kingsford; he had passed the cheery little -timbered dwelling many a time, but now, muffled in the night, it seemed -unfamiliar. As his feet crunched the gravel of the road before the -cottage he heard the house dog bark within, and a sudden feeling of -being shut out came over him. The dark houses, as he hurried by them, -had the awesome blankness of sleeping faces; even in the woods he had -not been so lonely as here in Kingsford, where human beings were within -call. - -But as he drew to the end of the straggling village he slackened his -pace. The road, ascending slightly here, skirted the churchyard, where -he could see the light streak that marked the pathway, and the huddled -stones, blacker against the turf. For a moment he rested his arms upon -the lich wall and stood gazing across the graves at the dense bulk of -the little Norman church, with its side porch overshadowed by a dark yew -tree and its square tower cleanly outlined against the starry sky. In -the chancel of the church his mother lay buried. She would have approved -what he was doing, he told himself; she would gladly have returned to -Alan Gwyeth. With every fibre of his resolution newly braced he once -more took up his march, down the gentle slope and across the one-arched -bridge that spanned the river Arrow. There, with the sound of the -hurrying water in his ears, he paused and took a final glance at the -tower of Kingsford church, and as he passed on wondered vaguely if he -should ever set eyes on it again, and when, and how. - -Beyond Kingsford the road ran once more through woods with now and again -a space of open land or a retired farmhouse. Hugh gave little heed to -the country round him, however; he noted only that he had firm road -beneath his feet, the cool morning wind in his face, and the stars -overhead to light him. But the wind grew chilly and faint with -approaching dawn; the stars paled; from far away across the cleared -fields a cock crowed and another answered him. When Hugh entered the -village next beyond Kingsford, the sky was fading to a dull leaden color -and he shivered with the cold of breaking day. Already people were -beginning to stir; he met laborers going afield and from roadside barns -heard men shouting to cattle, and the bark of dogs. About the little inn -there were some signs of life, so he entered and bought bread of a -tousled-headed woman. Coming out of the house he saw the eastern sky was -breaking into billows of pink, and a little later the cold yellow sun -burst forth. - -Hugh munched his bread as he tramped along, and the food and the -daylight heartened him wonderfully. When the sun got higher he slung his -cloak over one shoulder, whistled for company, and almost felt it in his -heart to run when he came to an especially even bit of road. For he was -his own man now, out in the world, with his pistol at his side, his five -shillings and odd pence in his pocket, and his face set toward -Nottingham. - -Something before noon he trudged into the great town of Warwick and made -his way to a tavern he knew from his school days. That time was now a -good four months past, so he felt entitled to put a bit of swagger into -his gait and rather hoped that in his new freedom he might meet with -some of his former schoolfellows. But he kept a wary eye out for his old -master, Doctor Masham, who, he suspected, might apprehend him on the -spot for a runaway and pack him off to Everscombe; so he drew a breath -of relief when he reached the tavern in safety. There he bought him -sixpence worth of bread and meat, and, too hungry to give great heed to -the varied company in which he found himself, spared expense by eating -in the common room. - -As his hunger abated he became aware of an exceeding stiffness in the -muscles of his legs which made him almost wince when he rose again. He -hobbled as far as the door, where a bench in the sun proved so tempting -that he sat down to rest him just a moment before starting out. Not only -did his legs ache but he found his eyelids heavy and his head dull, and -he was possessed of a great desire to yawn and stretch himself. He -finally lay down with his head on his arms and would have given himself -up to thoughts of Nottingham, only an endless line of swaying trees and -dark farmhouses kept sliding before his eyes. - -The next thing he knew some one shook him, and he heard the voice of one -of the drawers saying, “Now then, master, dost mean to pay us for the -use o’ that bench?” - -Hugh blinked his eyes open and sat up stiffly; one or two idlers stood -gazing at him with amused faces, but for the rest the inn porch was -deserted, and the sunlight had climbed above the windows of the second -story. “Why, what’s the time?” he cried, broad awake as he perceived -that. - -“Mid-afternoon and long past,” said the drawer, whereat Hugh jumped to -his feet and walked away, so vexed at his sluggishness that for the -first half-mile he scarcely heeded the soreness of his legs. - -After that his gait grew slower and more halting, but he set his teeth -and pulled himself along, as if it were an enemy he held by the collar; -he had made up his mind to sleep some six or eight miles out of Warwick -at a hamlet that marked the furthest limit of his school rambles, and -his plan should not be altered because he had foolishly slept away -precious time. The sun set and left him toiling along the highway; the -twilight darkened; and the crescent of the moon was riding low among the -stars, when Hugh dragged his tired feet over the threshold of the inn -for which he aimed. The house was about closing and there was little -welcome for this belated traveller, but from sheer weariness the boy was -past resenting uncivil usage. He ate thankfully what was given him, -stumbled away to his chamber, and, almost before he had flung off his -dusty clothes, was sound asleep. - -When he woke the mid-morning sun was streaming through the window full -in his face, but there was a sharpness in the air of the little chamber -that made him pull the blankets up to his chin. The poor inn bed seemed -far more comfortable than any he had slept upon at Everscombe; it took -an inordinate amount of resolution to rise from it, and an equal courage -to drag his shoes on to his swollen feet. But he had already lost the -bracing early hours of the day and he must waste no more time in -coddling himself, so he took the road at once, as briskly as his limbs -would bear him. - -Sore and stiff as he still was from yesterday’s long march, he made slow -progress; it was close on midday when, passing through the town of -Coventry, he entered upon the old Roman road, the Fosse, which he was to -follow. The sight of the straight way stretching endlessly northeast -discouraged him at first, but after a short rest he pulled himself -together and, hobbling on, half forgot the pain in his heels in the -exhilaration of going forward. It was new country he was now passing -through, for he was no traveller; Everscombe to Warwick had been his -usual round, save for that one trip into Worcestershire with Frank -Pleydall. Since the last year, when Peregrine had been up to London with -his father, Hugh had fretted at the narrow range of his journeyings and -felt aggrieved at having made his German travels so young that he could -cudgel up only scant recollections of them. But now Peregrine might go -to London or Staffordshire or whither he pleased; Hugh felt no jealousy, -for he knew it was far pleasanter to be an independent traveller, bound -to Nottingham and a soldier father. - -Thus, though he no longer had any wish to run, he contrived to jog along -quite cheerily till mid-afternoon. Then the low-lying clouds darkened -and a soft rain, striking chilly against Hugh’s face, made him glad to -pull his cloak up to his eyes. The fields and cottages looked gray -through the downpour, and then all he saw was the broad puddles of the -roadway, as of necessity he bent his head against the storm. At each -step he could hear the water oozing in his shoes, his stockings were -clammy wet, and his hat brim flapped cold against his forehead; but as -the afternoon waned he lost these single sensations, and only knew that -from head to foot he was soaked and numb and weary. Still he plodded on, -because he must hold out till he reached an inn, but it was at a heavy -mechanical pace, while he counted the steps and wondered drearily if the -march would never end. - -Twilight was turning to night when he splashed at last into a -considerable village and stumbled into the first inn to which he came. -There was a brisk fire in the common room and but one other guest, so -Hugh was free to slip into the chimney corner and dry his dripping -clothes while he ate his supper. For civility’s sake he began talking to -his companion, from whom he learned that he was now over the boundary -and into Leicestershire. The knowledge gave him a childish homesick -pang; Everscombe seemed to have fallen hopelessly far behind him and -Nottingham was still distant the length of a county. With no further -care to eat he thrust aside his trencher and dragged himself off to bed. - -In his waking moments he heard the rain plashing softly on the thatch of -the shed beneath his window, and with the morning light he found the sky -still gray and the storm still beating down. He put out one hand to his -coat, flung on the stool beside his pallet, and felt that it was not -half dried from yesterday’s soaking. Then for a time he rested quiet -again, while he wondered in half-shamed fashion if he might not lie by a -day till the storm was over. But when he reckoned up his store of money, -he saw he could not afford to lose so many hours; it was yet more than -two days’ march to Nottingham, and he had not full three shillings to -keep him on the way. He wondered at the speed with which money went, for -he was new to ordering such matters; hitherto he had been sure of his -three meals a day and bed at night, and looked upon stray sixpences as -valuable only for the apples and tops into which they might be turned. -He put that last recollection out of his head as speedily as possible, -ashamed of his scarcely ended childhood, and, accepting the -responsibilities of the manhood he had claimed for himself, got up and -dragged on his damp clothes. - -After breakfasting he wrapped his sodden cloak about him and plunged -resolutely out into the rain. The heavy mud stayed him with clogging his -shoes, but he was now somewhat seasoned for the march and managed to -keep up a pace that, though not of the fastest, was steady. So he came -at length through the afternoon drizzle to the town of Leicester, which -he loyally told himself was not the half as fine as his own old Warwick. -But none the less he made his lodging there that night, and he went to -bed hopefully; for the western clouds were showing a faint yellow streak -that promised better weather on the morrow. - -Sure enough, when morning came the rain had ceased to fall, and though -the air was still heavy with mist there seemed a prospect the sun might -yet break through. Hugh took the highway in gay spirits, and plodding -along at a stouter pace than on the day before congratulated himself on -covering such a deal of ground. But by noon he came to a less flattering -estimate of himself; for, talking with an idler at a small tavern he had -entered to buy his dinner, he discovered he was now following the Fosse -not to Nottingham but to Newark. Thereat Hugh faced about to retrace his -steps, too vexed at his own stupidity to allow himself to stop for -dinner. His informant called after him some direction about a cross-way -to the Nottingham road, which he scarcely heeded at the moment; but -afterward, when he was out of the village, he remembered, and striking -across the fields came into a narrow road full of ruts and great -puddles. - -At first Hugh splashed along recklessly, but presently, when a streak of -sunlight crept through the trees and turned the puddles bright, he let -his pace slacken and little by little brought himself back to a more -contented mood. After all, he could make up by steady walking what he -had lost, and in any case Nottingham was now less than two days’ journey -distant. He began whistling for content, then stopped, as a rustling in -the bushes ahead caught his ear. He saw the branches crackle outward, -and two men, bursting through, came swinging down the roadway to meet -him. - -Recovering from his first surprise, Hugh prepared to give them the usual -traveller’s good day, but on second glance kept to his side of the road -and walked more rapidly. One of the fellows was thick-set and well -tanned, and chewed a straw as he trudged; the other, a younger man, clad -like a field laborer, was taller and hulking, with a bearded, low-browed -face. As they came abreast he bade Hugh a surly good even and on the -word, almost before the boy could reply, gave a grip at his collar. Hugh -dodged back and pulled out his pistol, while the thought flashed through -his head that running was impossible in this mire,—and then it was not -befitting his father’s son. Next instant the tall man sprang upon him -and Hugh, thrusting the pistol into his face, pulled the trigger, then -felt the weapon knocked out of his hand and found himself grappling with -his big antagonist. The man’s fingers pressed into his throat, he knew; -and he remembered afterward how a smooch of red flecked the fellow’s -beard, as he dashed his fist against his mouth. Then he was griping the -other about the neck, hammering up at that stained face, and he heard -the fellow bawl, “Devil and all! Why don’t ’ee come in and help me, -Jock?” Another gruff voice retorted, “If thou canst not handle a younker -like that, thou deservest to have bloody teeth.” Then of a sudden Hugh -found himself twisted over so he saw the sky above him all shot with -black, and he felt a bursting pain in his forehead. Thrusting up his -hands gropingly, he went down full length in the mud without strength -enough in him to move, even when the tall man knelt over him and, with -one hand on his throat, rifled his pockets. - -“Here, have back your pistol, master,” he heard the gruff voice say, and -he dimly saw the well tanned man, with a grin on his face, fling the -pistol down in the mud beside him. Then the two walked off at their old -swinging pace, and Hugh dragged himself up on his elbow and lay staring -uncomprehendingly at his bleeding knuckles. After a time he got -painfully to his feet and in mechanical fashion reckoned up the damages; -they had taken his cloak and cleaned his pockets of money and of -everything but the creased letter from Frank Pleydall and a loose bit of -string. They had left him nothing but the torn and well-muddied clothes -he wore and the pistol, that now was all befouled with mire. As Hugh -picked it up all the hot anger of the actual conflict swept over him -again, and with some wild idea of making the robbers restore their -plunder he staggered a few steps down the road. Then strength failed -him, and dropping down by the roadside he sat with his aching head in -his hands. The world was a brutal place, he reflected with dumb -resentment; even if a man had courage enough he did not always have the -muscle to defend his own, not even with a pistol to back him. - -It did not better matters to sit there and whimper so after a time he -rose and, still rather dazed with his drubbing, went unsteadily on his -way. At the first brook he halted to wash his wounded hands and cleanse -the pistol, which he dried upon his coat as well as he could. The rest -of the afternoon he marched slowly because of the dizziness in his head, -and so the twilight had overtaken him before he reached the main road -and a village that lay upon it. - -Close by the wayside stood a tavern, where candles were lighted and food -would be cooking, but Hugh only gave one wistful look and passed on. He -made his supper of a drink of water from the public well, and, falling -in speech there with some loiterers, he found he was now into the shire -of Nottingham and not above ten miles from the town. His heart jumped at -the news, but next moment he was telling himself he could not tramp -those miles in the dark and he grew sober as he realized unwillingly -that he must sleep in the open. Till mid-evening he lingered in the -village street, then, drawing reluctantly away from the sight of the few -candles that still shone in cottages, passed on to the outskirts of the -hamlet. After a cautious reconnoissance he crept through a hedge into a -field, where he had dimly made out in the darkness a stack of straw, in -the lee of which he snuggled down. The straw rustled with startling -loudness at his least movement, and the earth beneath him was so damp -his teeth chattered in his head. The strangeness of the place kept him -many moments awake, but he held his eyes shut that he might not have -sight of the lowering sky. Little by little he forgot it all and fell to -thinking of the last time he had lain in the open, when he and Sam -Oldesworth had stolen out for a frolic to lie the night in Everscombe -Park. How Sam would have marvelled at this nights doings! And Lois, only -Lois would have pitied him, like a girl. - -Then he knew there had been a long space in which Lois and all other -remembrances left him, and he found himself shivering in the midst of -wet straw with gray morning light all around him. He crawled to his feet -and making his way to the highroad slowly set forth again. He was keenly -hungry with his twenty-four hours of fasting and stiff with the dampness -of his lodging, but he cheered himself with the thought that before -night he would be in Nottingham. He would have enough to eat then, and a -bed to sleep in, and decent clothes once more; but he put aside these -creature comforts at the thought that he would see his father before he -slept again. He wondered what his father would say, and he planned what -he would tell him, and how he would make light of his long walk and the -hunger and the cold. - -His heart fairly jumped within him when at last, in the mid-afternoon, -he saw from a hill a great congregation of houses and steeples, which he -knew must be Nottingham. He started down the hill on the run, though his -knees were smiting together with his long fast. He thought he could keep -up the pace clear to the gates of the town, but a troublesome stone got -into his shoe, so presently he had to pause and sit down under a hedge -to look to it. As he was pulling on the shoe again a man passing by bade -him good day, and Hugh, seeing there were houses within call, so he need -not fear a second assault, entered into talk with him: “Yonder’s -Nottingham, is it not?” - -“O’ course,” answered the other, proportioning his courtesy to the state -of Hugh’s jacket. - -“How do you like having a king lie so near?” Hugh laughed for the sheer -happiness that was in him. - -“Ill enough,” growled the other, “wi’ his swaggering ruffians breaking -our fields and kissing our wenches. Praise Heaven they be gone now.” - -“Gone?” Hugh echoed blankly. - -“Ay, his Majesty and the whole crew of his rakehelly followers went -packing westward three days back.” - - - - - CHAPTER IV - TO HORSE AND AWAY - - -If Hugh Gwyeth had been a few years older he might perhaps have cursed -his ill fortune; if he had been a few years younger he would assuredly -have put his head down on his knees and wept; as it was, being neither -man nor child, he blinked his eyelids rapidly and forced a weak grin, -then asked: “There’s a road that runs west from Nottingham, is there -not, friend? Perhaps then there is some cross-way from here by which I -may reach it?” - -The man delayed long enough to give full information about a path, a -stile, a meadow, and an ancient right of way, which Hugh checked off -mechanically. But after the man had passed on he still sat a time -staring at the distant roofs of Nottingham and blinking fast. - -At length he got to his feet and started down the hillside by the path -the man had shown him, slowly, for all the spring had gone out of his -gait now, and his knees felt weak and shook so that more than once he -had to pause to rest. During such a halt a sickening fear seized him: -suppose after all he should never reach his father? There was no danger -of his dying of starvation yet, for he had had food as late as the -previous morning; but what if strength failed him and he fell down in -the fields or lonely woods and slowly perished there? That fear still -staying with him, he made his night’s resting-place under a hedge, -almost within hail of a farmhouse. He lay down early in the twilight, -too exhausted to make the day’s march longer, but he could not sleep for -very hunger. In the first hours of his waking the dim light in the -distant farmhouse gave him company, but after that he had only the -stars. He lay huddled in a heap for warmth and stared up into the sky at -Charles’s Wain and the North Star, that were shining clear as on the -night when he quitted Everscombe. - -He lost sight of the stars at last, slept, and woke in white moonlight, -then slept and woke again, and, finding the chilly dawn breaking, rose -and plodded painfully out into the highway. The farmhouse in the gray -morning did not bear out the hospitable promise of its candle of the -night before; so, sick with hunger though he was, Hugh went by it -without so much as asking for a drink of water. But a few rods farther -on, when he caught sight of some apple trees, he crawled through the -hedge and helped himself, then hurried away guiltily and tramped the -next quarter mile so fearful of apprehension that he durst not taste the -plunder. When he did so he found that the apples were half sour and -hard, so he could scarcely swallow a mouthful, and that little sickened -him. When he resumed his walk he felt dizzier and weaker even than -before. - -About eleven of the morning he passed through a small village, where he -met people coming to their midday meal. He loitered along slowly and -rested a time by a well in the centre of the place; it was in his mind -to go boldly to some cottage and ask for food, but he could not decide -which house looked least inhospitable. While he was still debating, the -shameful realization of what he was doing came over him; he jumped up -and, pulling his battered felt hat over his face, walked away with -something of his old dignified step. But once outside the village his -pace slackened, as he told himself unsparingly that begging befitted a -gentleman far better than stealing, and he must now do one or the other. - -It was several hours later that a third resource occurred to him: he -might trade something for food, his pistol, perhaps. He examined it -carefully and decided that, though it looked a trifle rusty, it might -serve. In the expectation of getting food for it at the next town he -labored on more hopefully, but the next village seemed never to come, -for his knees were now fairly knocking together and his halts grew more -frequent and prolonged. Once, when he had to cross a small stream, he -found himself too unsure of foot to keep the stepping-stones, so he must -splash into the water up to his knees. A branch sent his hat into the -stream, and, without heart enough left even to struggle after it, he let -it drift away. - -The sun was nearly set when at last he came to scattered houses, which -he judged must be on the outskirts of a considerable town. At the -thought of food he stumbled forward more rapidly, with his pistol in his -hand ready for the barter, but he saw no possible purchaser till he came -to a small inn. There he found a knot of men gathered about a side door, -so, after a moment’s hesitation, he ventured into the courtyard. Country -fellows they proved to be, idling and smoking on the inn porch; one, who -took the deference of his comrades as a matter of course, had the look -of a small farmer; another seemed a smith; the rest were of the ordinary -breed of tavern frequenters. Hugh paused by a horseblock, and, looking -them over, found little encouragement in their appearance, yet he was -trying to frame a proper greeting with which to go up to them, when a -tapster bustled out on the porch and, getting sight of him, hailed him -roughly, “Now then, what brings you here?” - -Hugh hesitated over to the porch; he had forgot what he had meant to say -and for a moment no words came to him; then, realizing it was now or -never, he managed to stammer: “I have a pistol here. Maybe some one of -you would—wish to buy it.” As he spoke he held out the pistol, but the -farmer, the great man of the crew, shoved it aside and, pulling fiercely -at his pipe, wheezed out something about vagabonds and the stocks. The -blacksmith, however, took the pistol carelessly, turned it over, and -laughed. “How many men hast killed wi’ this, sirrah?” he asked in a big -voice, and passed the pistol to his neighbor, who grinned and offered a -ha’penny for it. - -Hugh gazed helplessly at the ring of mocking faces, then let his eyes -drop to the ground, and with the blood tingling in his cheeks waited -their pleasure. He would gladly have seized upon his pistol and flung -away from them, but he felt too faint and hungry to walk a rod, and -before he could get food he must make this sale. But at last, with slow -sickening disappointment, he realized they had no notion of purchasing, -but were making sport of him. “If you will not buy—” he blurted out with -weak anger. - -“What is going on here?” a pleasantly drawling voice struck in. - -Turning sharply Hugh almost brushed against a man who had approached -from the direction of the stables, a gentleman, by his dress and easy -bearing. “Will you not suffer me to see, friends?” he drawled slowly, -and reaching out his hand took the pistol from the man who held it. - -Gazing up at him hopefully Hugh saw that the newcomer was not above two -or three and twenty years of age, with long dark hair and a slight -mustache, under which Hugh fancied he saw his mouth twitch as he looked -the pistol over. Then the gentleman glanced up and showed a pair of -humorous brown eyes, which, as he surveyed Hugh, suddenly grew grave. -“Here, I’ve need of a pistol,” he said, and held out a piece of money. - -It was a crown piece, Hugh saw, that would buy unlimited bread, and -meat, too; but, as his fingers were closing over it, the remembrance of -the twitch in the purchaser’s lips and the laugh in his eyes recurred to -him, and of a sudden he understood that a pistol which thieves -themselves would not deprive him of could not be worth even a ha’penny. -He had no right to take money for it, he knew, and in his disappointment -he grew angry at his own stupidity, and angry at the brown-haired -gentleman for offering him charity, and angry at the other men who -looked on and thought him a beggar and worse. “After all, I’ll not sell -it,” he muttered sullenly. “Perhaps—’tis not in good condition.” - -“Tis a serviceable weapon,” replied the other. - -“It’s worthless,” Hugh maintained doggedly. “Give it back to me.” - -“But I’ve taken a fancy to it.” - -“Keep it, then,” Hugh retorted, fiercely, so his voice might not break, -and elbowing his way through the group of men walked off. He could smell -the food cooking inside the tavern, and hunger gnawed him so savagely -that even the thought that he had refused charity and had not deceived -any one into buying a worthless pistol could not keep a lump from -gathering in his throat. His step wavered and he had to halt an instant -to lean against the gate-post: out beyond the street looked lonely and -chill in the misty twilight. Just then he heard the click of spurs upon -the stones of the courtyard, and some one took him by the shoulder. Even -before he heard the drawl he knew it was the young gentleman. “Look you -here, sir, I cannot take your pistol as a gift.” - -More than one rough speech came to Hugh’s lips, but he did not utter a -word, only shook off the grasp on his shoulder and without looking up -made a step forward. Then his knees seemed to give way, the ground -suddenly came nearer, and, pride, resentment, and all, he pitched down -on the stones at the gentleman’s feet. - -The other bent over him quickly, and this time Hugh had neither strength -nor will to shake him off. “What’s wrong with you, lad?” There was -almost no drawl in the speakers voice, “Hurt? Tired? Hungry?” - -Hugh nodded dumbly. - -“Well, well! That’s easier remedied than a broken leg. Up with you, -now.” Hugh found himself upon his feet again, and, with the young man’s -hand beneath his elbow, stumbled obediently back across the courtyard -and through the little group about the door, who made way for them. -Within they turned up a staircase, and now he heard the man beside him -asking: “You’ll not refuse to take supper with me, perchance? When -gentlemen meet on the road—” - -“You’ve no need to make it easy unto me,” Hugh gulped out brokenly. “If -some one did not help me I doubt if I could tramp many days more, -and—I’d liefer take help from you.” - -Indeed, utter weariness and hunger had for the moment made an end of -Hugh’s dignity as effectually as if he had cast it quite away at the inn -gate. He suffered the stranger to lead him into a room and seat him in a -big chair by the fire, where he drank what was given him and swallowed -down some mutton broth, sparingly, at first, as he was told. He troubled -himself neither to think nor to speak, but he noted that the dark inn -chamber seemed like home, the fire felt warm, and the candles twinkled -dazzlingly. He found, too, that the brown-haired gentleman had a kind, -elder-brotherly way with him, and that in private life he dispensed with -his drawl, though his voice lost none of its pleasant tone. - -“Well, you feel almost your own man again now, do you not?” his host -queried at last. - -Hugh essayed a smile in reply. - -“Wait an hour or so and, if soft answers still have power with tavern -women, we’ll have a good supper then,—I take it you’ll be ready for it. -And now it seems time for ceremonious introductions. My name is Richard -Strangwayes.” - -“And my name is Hugh Gwyeth. My father is Colonel Alan Gwyeth of the -king’s army.” Hugh spoke slowly as if he liked to linger over the words; -it was the first time he had ever claimed his father. - -“And you are bound for the king’s camp?” asked Strangwayes, sitting down -on the opposite side of the fireplace. - -Hugh explained very briefly that he had left home to join his father and -had had a hard march, to which Strangwayes listened with sympathetic -eyes, though when he took up the conversation again his tone was light. -“We are headed for the same place, then, Master Gwyeth, for I am wearing -out my horse to reach his Majesty’s army. I am going to join my uncle, -Sir William Pleydall—” - -Hugh felt he could have hugged the man, he seemed suddenly to have come -so very near. “Why, I know Sir William,” he cried, “I was at school with -his son. I’ve a letter from him here.” Pulling out Frank’s worn letter -he passed it to Strangwayes, who stared at him an instant, then hastily -scanned the sheet. When he handed it back Hugh noted a change in his -manner; he had been kind before with the kindness of one stranger to -another, but now he seemed to have taken to himself a permanent right to -befriend Hugh. He came across the hearth and shook hands with the boy. -“I’m right glad we chanced to meet, Hugh,” he said warmly. “We’ll -journey the rest of the way together. Oh, yes, I can procure you a -horse.” - -Hugh ventured some weak objection, rather shamefacedly, for he knew he -hoped Strangwayes would thrust it aside, and he felt only satisfaction -when the young man did so. “Leave you to come on alone? Folly! I only -lend you the horse; your father will settle the matter with me. I’ll -charge him Jew’s interest, if ’twill content you. Do you think I mean to -leave my cousin Frank’s comrade to fray out his clothes and his body -along the road?” - -Afterwards, when they were eating supper together and the maid who -served them had quitted the room, Strangwayes suddenly looked up and -asked quizzically, “You are well assured there is no Spanish blood in -you?” - -Hugh was quite sure; why had Master Strangwayes asked? What were -Spaniards like, anyway? Strangwayes drawled on disjointedly for a -quarter of an hour, while his eyes laughed in a provoking way: Spaniards -were fierce fighters, and their women were pretty, and they liked gold, -and they were proud as the devil, and they were very cruel, and they had -a deal of dignity, and they grew oranges in their country. “Dream it out -to-night, Hugh,” he advised, as they rose from the table; but Hugh -disobeyed flagrantly, for the instant he was laid in a Christian bed -once more he was sound asleep. - -He woke in broad daylight, and, having assured himself that the bed was -real, so Richard Strangwayes could not have been a dream, dozed -contentedly again, and woke with a start to rise and dress with the -unsettled feeling of one who has slept long enough to lose count of -time. When he went downstairs he judged by the sunlight that flooded the -courtyard that it must be near noon, and his guess was verified by the -tapster, who was vastly more respectful than he had been on the -preceding evening. Those loitering about the courtyard, too, eyed him -curiously but no longer mocked him. The only relic of last night’s -dismal scene which he found was a rusted pistol that lay near the post -of the outer gate. After a hasty glance about to make sure none were -looking, Hugh snatched it up and, hiding it beneath his coat, sauntered -nonchalantly out of the courtyard. Just across the road was a sluggish -muddy ditch, and into this he dropped the pistol that had once been -Peregrine Oldesworth’s. Even as he did so he felt a quick pang of -regret, for he realized he had trusted in the worthless weapon as he -never could trust again in the truest sword or the surest musket. - -A bit saddened and a bit shamed at such a feeling, he retraced his steps -to the gateway, where he came face to face with Strangwayes, very -martial indeed with his big hat and riding-boots, who trotted up on a -long-legged white horse. By the bridle he led a despondent-looking gray, -which halted with the greatest readiness, as Strangwayes reined in his -own steed and addressed Hugh: “What do you think of this high-tempered -charger? Unless appearances are arrant liars, he is the prettiest bit of -horse-flesh within two league of here. His Majesty,—Heaven bless him and -requite it to his followers!—has carried away every well-seeming thing -that goes o’ four legs. Here, sirrah hostler, give the beasts a bite. -We’ll do the like service to ourselves, Hugh, and then the word is, ‘To -horse and away.’” - -“I am ready,” Hugh answered. “But I fear I have made you to lose time—” - -“Time spent in horse-dealing is never lost,” Strangwayes replied -sententiously; “especially when the rascal who owns the horse has -likewise a winsome daughter. Now come to dinner.” - -It was during this meal that a new care burdened Hugh. Now that he was -no longer half starved and near desperate he had time to take heed to -minor matters, and he was keenly aware of the holes in his stockings and -the rents in his breeches and jacket. It seemed Strangwayes had guessed -something of his thought, for, as they rose from the table, he spoke out -with a half embarrassment: “Look you here, Hugh, I meant—to lend you -money to get you fresh clothes, but, faith, the gray there cost a penny -more than I thought, and, as we’ve no wish to starve again, methinks you -must be content to let your new coat ride away on his back.” - -“’Tis no great matter,” Hugh forced himself to say. “If you be willing -to take the road with such a vagrant-looking fellow as I.” - -Strangwayes suggested, however, that they do what they could, so the -tapster was bribed and the chambermaid cajoled, till out of the inn -stores Hugh was furnished with a cap and a pair of boothose, and a good -part of the hedge mud was brushed off the rest of his apparel. So when -at last he rode out from the inn on the gray horse Hugh felt himself a -very passable Cavalier, for his covered head greatly increased his -self-respect, and the boothose in most hypocritical fashion concealed -the torn stockings. But had he been quite out at elbow he felt he would -have shone in the borrowed light of Strangwayes’ completeness, and would -have been content with that or anything he might owe to his new friend. - -That night they slept within the borders of Staffordshire, and, sparing -their horses, took the road late next morning beneath a lowering sky. -They were headed for Shrewsbury, Hugh learned, whither the king was -marching by a northern road; they would keep to the south, however, in -the hope of speedily overtaking a scouting party led by one Butler, an -old friend of Strangwayes, whom the reports of tavern-keepers placed -less than four and twenty hours ahead of them. If the horses held out, -they doubtless would come up with him in the course of a twelvemonth, -Strangwayes announced dolorously, after a morning spent in flogging his -beast along the heavy road. It was impossible to mend the pace, so they -forgot it at last in talk, for after his days of non-intercourse Hugh -was but too happy to tell some one his thoughts and plans; and he felt -Strangwayes was as safe a confessor as a man could have. So he related -his early life, much in detail, and the intimate reasons of his present -quest, and all he knew of his father. At that Strangwayes’ dark eyebrows -went up amazingly and came down in a twist above his nose. “Name of -Heaven!” he ejaculated, turning in his saddle to face Hugh, “do you mean -to tell me you are tracing over the kingdom after a father who has not -set eyes on you for twelve years? What think you the man will say to you -or do with you?” - -Hugh paused blankly, assailed with sudden queer doubts, as Strangwayes -thus harked back to his grandfather’s hints. But next instant the older -man laughed off his surprise and plunged headlong into a tale that soon -ended Hugh’s discomfort. “Confidence for confidence, Hugh. Would you -hear something of myself? If they ever put me in a chap-book they can -say I was the unhappy third son of a worthy knight of Lincolnshire. They -put me to school at a tender age,—pass over that; no doubt you can guess -what it means. No, I did not run from school; mine has been a sober and -industrious life, fit for all youth to take instruction by. When I was -sixteen I betook myself to Oxford, for my father was too loyal a -gentleman to trust even so poor a piece of goods as a third son among -the Puritans of Cambridge. There at Oxford I improved my hours to best -advantage and learned to play famously at bowls, and would have become a -past master at tennis, had not the Scots war broke out. Sir William -Pleydall procured me a lieutenancy—” - -“And you have been to war once already?” asked Hugh, suffering the gray -to slacken the pace to his natural amble. “Tell me of your battles, I -pray you, Master Strangwayes.” - -“If you’ll clip my title to Dick,” replied the other. “It sounds more -natural. Truth to tell, I was in but one battle, Hugh, and that was the -fierce and bloodless battle of Wilterswick, here in this same pleasant -Staffordshire. You remember, doubtless, when the king went against the -Scots, how loath our excellent yokels were to follow after. Rank -Puritans, the most of the levies were, and worked off their warlike -energies pulling down communion rails and hunting parsons out of their -parishes. We had a choice lot of such spirits in our troop, and, to put -a leaven to the whole lump, the captain was an Irishman, ergo, a -Catholic. A proper black fellow he was, Dennis Butler; the same one at -whose mess-table we may chance to sit to-morrow night. This Butler and I -took ourselves to rest one wet night at Wilterswick, and, faith, we -waked to the hunt’s up of a big stone crashing in at our casement and -found our trusty followers crowding the street before the inn, clamoring -to hang the captain for a Papist. At their head was a venomous, -two-legged viper, Constant-In-Business Emry,—he was rightly named,—a -starveling of a fellow,—I’d swear he began life a tailor. Butler had -rated him a day or two before, so he was in earnest, and, truth, the -rest of them looked it. So Denny Butler, being a gentleman of resources, -gathered himself into his clothes and left by the rear door.” - -“And you?” Hugh cried out, “I hold your captain went like a coward.” - -“Nay, nay, we’d agreed to it; I knew they’d not hurt me. So I slipped on -my shirt and breeches, and went down to speak unto them. They threw -stones and other things, and roared somewhat, but at last I made myself -heard; then I talked to them like a preacher and a father, and tripped -up Constant-In-Business Emry on a theological point, and demonstrated -that I was a good Church of England man, like all my ancestors before -me. By that they were tolerably subdued, so I called for a Book of -Common Prayers and read them morning service, then down we all knelt in -the mud of the courtyard and I prayed over them. You never know how hard -you can pray till you’re put to it. By that Butler was well away, so I -went back to my chamber and finished dressing. I ruined a serviceable -pair of velvet breeches kneeling in that mud, and the lesson of that is -to go rough clad when you go to war. And that was the end of my military -glory, for the king struck a truce with the Scots, I lost my commission, -and, as I would have no more of the university, my father packed me off -to London to take chambers in the Middle Temple. He held the Puritans -should not have a monopoly of lawyers, ‘fight the devil with his own -weapons,’ as ’twere. But I confess the only court I followed was the -king’s court and I learned far more of dancing and sonneteering than of -the precepts of worthy Sir Edward Coke. Then my father,—Heaven rest -him!—died, and left me an annuity. I have no liking for annuities; they -encourage a man in the sordid practice of living within his means. I -sold mine out of hand, and, with a droll streak of prudence, as rare as -strange, committed a round sum to Sir William Pleydall to hold in trust -for me, then set out with the rest to see the world. I went to the Low -Countries and served a time as a gentleman volunteer, and then to -France, where I learned some handy tricks at fencing.” - -“You’re a great swordsman?” Hugh queried with bated breath. “Did you -ever fight a duel?” - -“On my honor, yes,” the other replied with a smile. “No earlier than -last April I crossed swords with a certain Vicomte de Saint Ambroix. The -manner of it? Do you think of challenging any one, Master Hugh? Why, -monsieur the vicomte chose to speak some scurvy untruths of Englishwomen -in my company, so I did but go up to him and strike him across the -mouth, saying, ‘Monsieur, I do myself the honor of telling you that you -lie in your throat.’ Which was a great waste of words. But we fought and -he was hurt somewhat in the shoulder. No, I have no scars, but I got -then a piteous gaping wound in a crimson satin doublet of mine, which -has never healed, as flesh and blood heals in time. That was the last -adventure, fortunately, for here comes what shall abridge my story.” -Strangwayes pointed before him where the dusky roofs of a straggling -village showed among the wet trees. - -“But how came you home, Dick?” Hugh coaxed. - -“Simply told. I heard there was work for men of enterprise, and I judged -my loyal uncle would have turned my pounds and shillings into troopers -and muskets, and would gladly give me a commission in exchange. So I -spent what surplus money I had,—’tis the surest way to cheat -thieves,—and took ship for King’s Lynn. I paid a swift visit to my elder -brother in Lincolnshire; he is for the Parliament,—Heaven and my -father’s spirit forgive him! So I mounted and faced me westward to the -king, and here I am now, and here we are.” - -The two horses clinked across the cobbles of the courtyard of the -village inn, a hostler ran up officiously, and the host himself came -puffing out to greet the guests. “Well, friend, what news on the road?” -cried Strangwayes, swinging out of his saddle. “Has a troop of Cavaliers -passed through here?” - -The host gazed from one to the other, then up at the sky, then back at -the travellers. “Be you king’s men?” he finally asked, with mild -curiosity. - -“Sure, I trust we all be honest people,” Strangwayes answered dryly. - -“Well, well, that may be as it may be; I say naught; only ’tis good hap -for you, you lie in a snug haven to-night.” - -“Why, what mean you? Are there hobgoblins farther on?” Strangwayes’ -voice dropped to a ridiculous quaver that made Hugh smile. - -“Worse nor hobgoblins, master,” replied the host. “Have ye not heard, -then? They do say a stout band of Puritan rogues are plundering the -country, yonder toward the west of us.” - - - - - CHAPTER V - IN AND OUT OF THE “GOLDEN RAM” - - -Though the dawn of another day had broken, slate-colored clouds still -hid the sun and a mist like a fine rain hung in the air; even the white -horse and the gray, standing saddled and ready in the inn yard, touched -noses as if they vowed the weather bad. Hugh slapped their flanks and -settled their damp manes, while he waited for Strangwayes to pay the -reckoning to the mildly curious host, but the process proved so long -that at last he mounted into the saddle and ambled slowly out into the -highway. Turning the gray horse’s nose to the west he paced forward, -with his heart a-jump at the thought that yonder in the mist before him -real danger that tested men’s courage might be lurking. - -A gay clatter of hoofs on the uneven roadway made him turn just as -Strangwayes came abreast of him. At once Hugh blurted out what was -uppermost in his thoughts: “Do you think, Dick, the host spoke true? Are -there enemies before us? What think you?” - -“I think there be two whose words are not to be over-trusted: a woman -when she will have a boon of you, and a tavern-keeper when he will have -you to tarry in his lodgings.” - -“Then you believe the host’s talk of Roundheads—” - -“Mere words to frighten children. It troubles me not the half as much as -his showing me just now that Butler must have borne more northward. -Well, let the Irish rogue go hang! We’ll push on as we are and reach -Shrewsbury,—some day.—Come up, you crows’ meat!” This to the white -horse, whose nose was at its knees. - -“To-day will be but as yesterday, then, without any danger?” asked Hugh, -a thought relieved, yet with room for a feeling of grievous -disappointment at being cheated of his looked-for adventure. - -Strangwayes’ telltale eyes laughed immoderately, though he kept his -mouth grave: “You’ll have all the adventures you need, after you reach -the king’s army. Still, as I have an honest liking for you, mayhap, if -you’re a good lad, I’ll find you one ere we come thither.” - -Then they fell to speaking of all they would do, when once they were -enrolled among his Majesty’s followers, and, what with talking and -urging on their laggard horses, they kept themselves employed till past -noon. “We’ll bait here,” Strangwayes announced, as rounding a curve they -got sight of a tiny hamlet half concealed beneath a hill. “Then we’ll -make a long stage this afternoon and sleep the night well within the -borders of Shropshire.” - -At that cheering thought they put the horses to their best pace and -clattered through the village street quite gallantly, though there were -none to admire them, save a flock of geese, and a foolish-looking girl, -who seemed the whole population of the little place. Thus they came to -the farther end of the hamlet, where, a bit retired from the neighboring -cottages, stood a shabby inn, before which hung a sign-board bearing a -faded yellow sheep. “Golden Ram!” Strangwayes translated it. “Mutton -would suit me as well!” - -They rattled into the little inn yard, ducking down in their saddles to -save their heads from the bar across the low gateway, and drew rein just -in time to avoid riding down a flurried serving-maid. Strangwayes almost -fell out of his saddle, so promptly he dismounted to reassure her. -“You’re not harmed, my lass?” he asked anxiously, slipping one arm about -her as if he expected her to faint, though, from her fine fresh color, -that did not seem likely. Hugh had already seen something of his -friend’s civilities to barmaids, so he kept to his saddle and felt -rather foolish, when suddenly the host, a scrawny man with a lantern -face, appeared in the doorway. At sight of him Strangwayes, in his turn, -looked a bit foolish, and stepping away from the maid began briskly, -“Well, friend, what can you give us to dinner?” There he paused -dumfounded, and stared, then cried out: “Heaven keep us! If it be not my -constant friend Emry, as busy as ever! Verily, ’tis a true saying that -the Lord will not see the righteous forsaken.” - -“Lieutenant Strangwayes was always a merry gentleman,” -Constant-In-Business Emry replied, with a rather dubious countenance. - -“Tut, tut! You’re all mistaken, my man. I abominate merriment as much as -I do ale. Which calls it to my mind I am uncommon dry and thirsty. Jump -down, Hugh. We’ll have experience of a Puritan tavern.” - -“Ay, men must eat,” sighed Emry. “Though my calling may smack of the -carnal taint, yet ’tis not all ungodly, since—” - -“Don’t trouble yourself for that,” Strangwayes replied. “Faith, I never -thought to surprise you in so honest a calling.” - -With that he led the way into the inn, where he and Hugh dined together -in an upper chamber. The food was none of the best, Hugh privately -thought, but Strangwayes praised it mightily to the maid who served -them, the same they had encountered in the courtyard. She was a -stepdaughter of Emry, who had married her mother, the now deceased -hostess of the “Golden Ram,” so she told Strangwayes, and added much -more touching Emry, who seemed the same old Puritan malcontent of -Wilterswick. Soon the talk turned from him to gayer matters, for the -girl was fresh-faced and black-eyed, so Strangwayes gave more heed to -her than to his meat and drink. Hugh, feeling more foolish and out of -place than ever, choked down his food quickly, then left the room, and, -as he closed the door, heard a suppressed squeak: “Don’t ’ee, sir. An -thou kiss me again I’ll scream.” - -Hugh stamped downstairs and stood glowering out into the courtyard, -where the mist was now dribbling down in a slow rain. He watched the -grayish streaks it made across the black openings of the sheds opposite -the inn porch, and athwart the gaping door of the stable at his right. A -wretched chilly day it was, and—why need Dick Strangwayes play the fool -because a wench had red cheeks? When he heard his friend’s step he did -not even turn his head, and then Strangwayes came up alongside him, and -clapping one arm about his shoulders said in a low tone, “Jealous of a -tavern maid, or I’ll hang myself!” Then he walked off laughing and -disappeared into the stable. - -But when Strangwayes came out again some time later the laughter had -gone from his face, and in its stead was a troubled, angry look that -made Hugh forget his petty vexation and run down from the porch to meet -him. “What has happened, Dick?” he begged. - -“Why, nothing,” replied Strangwayes, and took hold of his arm, so they -paced up and down the courtyard together, “and yet everything is amiss. -The white horse has gone lame.” - -“Is that all?” - -“Enough. Unless you fancy walking ten miles through the mud and rain to -the next village. I do not.” - -“You can ride my horse. That is, he’s yours, of course.” - -“Or you might carry me,” Strangwayes answered soberly. “No, Hugh, -neither you nor I will walk that ten miles nor the half of it, dragging -a hobbled horse behind us.” - -“Well, at worst,” Hugh tried to speak cheerfully, “we shall but lose a -few hours.” - -“Ay, is that all? Tell me this, Hugh: why did a sound horse go lame in -the mere course of dinner?” - -“Then it’s possible ’twas done with fore-thought?” Hugh cried. -“Perchance they mean—” - -“Hush, hush, you fire-eater!” Strangwayes interrupted hastily. “If ’twas -the inn people lamed the horse they did it only to stay us here, that -they might profit by our tarrying. Or to hinder us in our journey, for -this knave Emry has no love unto me.” - -Yet Strangwayes, Hugh took note when they returned to the house, was -merry as ever in his talk with the lean-visaged Emry. He ordered a -chamber for the night, and then, free to go and come as he pleased, went -sauntering into every corner of the hostelry, from the common room to -the sheds and stable. About twilight the journey ended in the kitchen, -where, finding Emry’s stepdaughter at work, Strangwayes seated himself -on a table and entered into ardent conversation with her about -butter-making. - -Left to himself, Hugh sat down on the settle and, poking the fire -vigorously, watched the embers die down and then flare up again, while -the light waned or reddened throughout the room. Bits of the smoky -ceiling and black walls started into sudden radiance, or the fire gleam -was given back by a copper kettle or pewter plate, and once the sudden -blaze lit up the two who were by the table. Strangwayes’ face was half -shadowed by his long hair, so only his clean-cut chin and confident -mouth showed vividly; but the girls face, with drooping eyelids and -sober lips that now were silent, was very clear to see. - -Hugh turned once more to the embers and paid the others no further heed, -till Strangwayes came to his side with the noisy announcement that, the -kitchen being a very delectable place, they would eat supper there. So -the maid lit candles and fetched them food, though she kept silent, even -to Strangwayes’ gayest nonsense. At the last she brought wine, as he -bade, and filling a glass held it out to him. Hugh, glancing up, left -eating to stare at the girl’s white face, and Strangwayes of a sudden -caught hold of her arm. “What’s wrong with you, wench?” he asked -abruptly. - -At that the wine went slopping to the floor. “Don’t ’ee tell, sir,” the -girl murmured, under her breath, “father’d kill me, if he knew. But -there be Roundhead troopers,—they come hither to-night.” - -A side glance from Strangwayes checked the exclamation that was on the -tip of Hugh’s tongue. The girl went on softly: "Father said: ‘He is a -swaggering child of Satan, this Papist Strangwayes. A shall not go out -of the “Golden Ram” till he goes strapped to another man’s saddle-bow.’" - -Strangwayes’ nostrils contracted, but he said nothing, merely whistled -between his teeth. “A merry fellow your father is,” he broke silence at -length; “he does not deserve to have so good a lass for his daughter. -Here’s a half-crown to pay for the good wine your floor will scarce -appreciate, and here’s a kiss for yourself. And prithee fetch me more -drink.” - -As the girl turned away, Hugh, for all his hot excitement, found wit -enough to say softly: “For the host’s talk of Roundheads ’twas mere -words to frighten children.” - -“My boy,” Strangwayes replied, “if you do not hold your tongue as to -that, I’ll put you on the sound horse and pack you off to the next -village.” Then his face turned cheery as ever, as the maid came back -with the glass of wine, which he sipped slowly, questioning her softly -meantime: “What hour will these people come, do you know?” - -“About mid-evening, I heard father say.” - -“How many?” - -“Only five or six. A grand officer and some common men. They were here -yesternight and before that.” - -“Are there any men in the inn save your worthy, busy father and his -groom?” - -“No others. But they are keeping watch of the inn gate and the stairs to -the upper story.” - -Strangwayes drained off the last of the wine, then rose. “Tell me one -thing,” he asked, “is there any way from the upper floor into the -stable?” - -“Through the loft above the kitchen.” - -“It may chance your father and his man will be here in the kitchen the -next hour; then, if you love me, lass, keep up a great clattering of -your pans. Here, Hugh, take a brace of candles and off with you to bed.” - -Hugh went slowly into the common room, where sat Emry, to all -appearances wrapped in pious meditations, and passed firmly up the -stairs. How the little flames of the candles flickered, he observed, and -how light and eager he felt; yet there was a kind of foolish trembling -in his knees. - -Scarcely within the chamber Strangwayes rejoined him. “Are you satisfied -with this brave adventure, my man?” was his greeting. - -Hugh nodded. “I know you’ll bring us through safe, Dick.” - -“Humph! To do that we need but to slip out at a window of the inn. I’ve -a better plan, Hugh, if you’ll come in with me. We cannot bear off our -noble white steed and our fleet gray, for to ride hence is the surest -means to fall foul of these Roundheads. Then say we lurk here and, turn -and turn about, possess ourselves of two of their horses.” - -“That’s your plan?” Hugh repeated amazedly. “Why, yes, of course I’ll -follow, if you bid. But you must tell me what to do.” - -“First, here are the brace of pistols from my holsters,” Strangwayes -answered; “you are to take one of them. I grieve I cannot make two of my -rapier, but ’tis impossible. Now, note you, we go to bed—” - -“What do you mean?” Hugh cried. - -“No, no, no, don’t pull off your coat yet. To the mind of -Constant-in-the-Devil’s-Work Emry we take ourselves to bed, for we blow -out our candles, save this one, which I cut down till it will burn not -above half an hour. And I set it where the light will smite through the -window. Now tread softly and follow me.” - -Outside the chamber the corridor was very dark and still, so that the -least creak of a board was appallingly loud, but there was no other -noise, save the faint sound of a girl’s singing in the kitchen below. -Down the corridor they passed what seemed immeasurable lengths, till -Hugh’s knees ached with the slow step, step, to a point where he felt -for sheer nervousness he must stamp or shout or do something foolish. -Then he heard the faint squeak of a door, as Strangwayes, a black figure -in the dusk, swung it gently ajar, and he stepped cautiously into a -loft, where a square of fainter darkness at the left showed a window was -cut. After a moment he found it lighter here than in the corridor, so, -groping with more confidence, he was presently at Strangwayes’ heels. -Right below he heard the muffled voice still singing words that were -undistinguishable. “That’s a rare wench,” Strangwayes just breathed. -“And here’s the hole into the stable loft. Count sixty ere you follow, -or you’ll be putting your heels through my skull.” - -A long sixty it was, but Hugh counted ten more to be certain, then, -crawling through a low window that bruised his head, hung an instant by -his hands, while he wondered how far it was to fall. Just there -Strangwayes put his arms about him and rolled him over into a pile of -hay. “Not above a foot to drop, Hugh,” he whispered, with a suppressed -chuckle, “but an inch is as bad as a mile in the dark. For the rest of -the way I am sure; I used my eyes this afternoon.” - -They quickly slid down from the hay-loft to the floor of the barn, and -as they went Hugh found time, perilous though the moment was, to feel -half shamed that Strangwayes was taking such care of him, as if he were -a little boy. The lighter square of the opening guided them to the -stable door, where Strangwayes caught Hugh’s arm. “Briskly now; they may -be spying from the gate. But softly.” - -Hugh fairly held his breath in the three quick paces across the corner -of the courtyard till he found the grateful, pitchy darkness of a shed -around him. He smelt the freshness of new litter, heard it rustle about -his ankles, and then Strangwayes pulled him down beside him amidst -trusses of straw. “You understand, Hugh,” he whispered, “if we stayed in -the stable these knaves of troopers might mistake us for hay, when they -came to feed their horses, and the mistake would grieve us all. Now here -in the shed we can lie close till they leave the stable under guard of a -man or two, and then we will follow the fundamental maxim of warfare and -supply ourselves from the enemy. Unless they come first to rouse us in -our beds. Look you, Hugh, yonder, that little light, is our chamber. -There, it has gone out,” he added presently. “Now, when next we see a -light in that room, we’ll know they have gone thither and discovered our -removal, and we must be up and doing.” - -Then for a long time there was silence betwixt them, while Hugh thought -of many things and felt the brave pistol under his coat. He tried to -make out a single star in the misty night that was around them, and he -strained his ears with listening for hoof-beats, till he wearied of it -and put his head down on his arms. Presently Strangwayes took him in the -ribs with his elbow. “Hugh,” he whispered in an odd, half-jesting voice, -“have you courage?” - -“In truth, I was wondering,” Hugh blurted out. Strangwayes put his arm -about him as they lay, and once more many moments ran by. Then suddenly -Strangwayes whispered sharply, “Hark!” - -Hugh raised his head, and he, too, caught, far off upon the highway, the -thud, thud of swiftly approaching horses, that slackened in speed but -grew louder and louder. He felt his heart thump shamefully, and, -reaching out his hand, griped Strangwayes’ coat. Then the hoofs sounded -right upon them, and there came shouts of men and the clatter of horses -across the inn yard. Through the misty darkness shone a sudden light, -against which Hugh could see outlined the top of the straw-pile. He saw, -too, Strangwayes, with his bare head uplifted, peer out through an -armful of the loose straw he held up before him, and he heard him -whisper: “Six men, Hugh. Two are officers, I judge. One of them has -passed into the inn. The rest are heading into the stable.” - -Hugh pulled himself up on his knees and gazed out. There were torches in -the inn yard that made a half circle of light about the stable door, but -left the rest black as ever. Men were leading horses into the stable, -and calling and swearing to each other, so they could be heard even -after the great door swallowed them up. The house itself was silent as -before, but a moment later, and, even as he gazed, from the farther -window in the upper story a faint light streamed out. “Curse them! They -need not have gone prowling so soon,” Strangwayes rapped out between his -teeth. “We must make a dash for it. They are only five against two.” - -Both were now on their feet among the straw, and Strangwayes had made a -step to the opening of the shed, when Hugh caught his arm. “Wait, wait, -Dick,” he panted, the words instinctively saying themselves, “that’s but -a small chance. Nay, I am not afraid; ’tis only I have a better way. -With my ragged clothes,—I’ll slip my cap under my jacket,—they’ll think -me a stable-boy. Let me go first into the stable. Perhaps I can get a -couple of horses out into the court. Yes, I am going.” - -Strangwayes gave a glance at the lighted window. “If you’re beset, call. -God speed!” he whispered, and Hugh ran out from the shed. - -For a moment his eyes were dazzled with the sudden light about him, then -he blinked it away and went forward. He seemed scarcely to feel the -solid ground beneath him, nor to hear his own step, for the pounding of -the blood in his temples. Yet there was no fear nor any feeling within -him, only he saw the opened door to the lighted stable, and he stepped -in boldly. - -There he halted and of a sudden griped at the side of the door to hold -himself erect. For just before him, saddled, bridled, and all, stood two -horses, a black and a bay, which he had last caressed in the stable of -Everscombe Manor. Beside the bay loitered a stalwart young officer, who -at his step glanced up and showed the face of Peregrine Oldesworth. -“Hugh!” he cried amazedly, and the troopers, unsaddling the horses at -the farther end of the stable, looked up at the cry. - -Hugh felt his nerves tingle, but with a calmness that seemed no part of -him he walked into the stable. “Good even, Cousin Peregrine,” he said -quietly, though his voice shook a trifle. “May I lead out the horses to -water?” His hands closed on the reins of the bay and the black. - -“What are you doing here?” Peregrine asked astonishedly. - -“What I can,” Hugh replied, with growing confidence. - -“You’ve come down in the world, Master Runaway,” said Peregrine, and by -his look Hugh knew he was not sorry that his proud cousin should groom -his horse. That triumphant look strengthening him mightily, he -deliberately faced the horses about and led them the few steps to the -door. “I’m down, Cousin Peregrine,” he said, with a quick laugh, “but -maybe I’ll be up in the saddle again.” - -“What are you about with the horses?” Peregrine cried, with a first -realization that all was not well. “Halt, there!” - -For answer Hugh gave a cry of “Dick!” and jerking at the bits brought -the two horses into the courtyard on the run. The beasts were plunging -and wrenching at their bridles, behind him he heard the stamp of men -rushing across the stable,—all in a second,—then a dark figure had -sprung out from the shelter of the shed. “Look to yourself, Hugh!” -Strangwayes shouted, and helter-skelter Hugh made a spring for the back -of the bay horse. He got the reins in his hand anyhow and his leg across -the saddle, then, griping the pommel and the horse’s mane, clung for his -life as the frightened animal dashed for the gate. Men were shouting and -running, he heard the thud of another horse behind him, the crack of a -pistol, then, as he galloped past the inn, a casement suddenly swung -open. A bar of light dazzled in his eyes, and for the fraction of an -instant he saw the face of Thomas Oldesworth, as he leaned out, pistol -in hand. He heard the report of the shot, and then he flung himself -forward in the saddle to save his head from the bar at the gate. - -Now he was out on the highway, the bay plunging and leaping beneath him, -and groping wildly he got one foot into the stirrup. Just then the black -horse with its bareheaded rider came abreast of him, passed him, and -Hugh galloped blindly at its heels. Well in the rear he heard the beat -of other horse-hoofs, but he had both feet in the stirrups now and the -reins in his hands, so he turned boldly into the fields behind the black -horse. There was a dark wall, he remembered, that he jumped recklessly, -and a stretch of rough ground, where he must hold his reins taut. There -the black slackened pace somewhat and Hugh galloped up breathless. -“We’ll give them the slip yet, will we not?” he cried, and then he heard -Strangwayes breathing in quick painful gasps, and saw he sat drooping -forward in his saddle. “Dick, Dick,” he almost screamed, “sure, you’re -not—” - -“Ay,” Strangwayes panted, “I’m hit.” - - - - - CHAPTER VI - THE END OF THE JOURNEY - - -For perhaps an hour the black and the bay crashed at a fierce pace -across the dark countryside. Hugh had afterwards a confused remembrance -of thickets where he must bend his head to escape the swishing boughs, -of a ford where the water flew high as the girths, of a cluster of -cottages, black and silent in the night. Cleared land and highway sped -by him hazily, but always he had the mist in his face, faint hoof-notes -that ever grew fainter behind him, and just before him the black horse -with the piteously slouching figure in the saddle. Once and again Hugh -had cried out to him: How grievously was he hurt? Could not he stay to -look to it? Each time the terse reply had come: “’Tis nothing. Ride on.” - -But the pursuing horses were at last no longer audible; moment after -moment passed, and still no sound reached them but the echo of their own -gallop. Slowly the black’s pace sobered to a trot, and Hugh rode up knee -to knee with his friend. “Dick, ’tis not mortal? Tell me,” he entreated. - -“‘Not as wide as the church door,’ as saith the gentleman in the play,” -Strangwayes replied, but for all his gay tone Hugh caught in his voice a -strained note that frightened him; “a mere pistol wound. That knave in -the window gave’t me. Why did you not shoot him down?” - -“’Twas my uncle,” Hugh replied. - -“A sweet family you belong to, then,” Strangwayes muttered. - -“I would it had been me he shot. If he has killed you—” Hugh gulped out. - -“Nonsense!” Strangwayes answered testily. “Ride on, and trouble me with -no more such talk.” - -For another long space they rode in silence, Strangwayes with his head -sunk on his chest and his left arm motionless. Hugh pressed close to -him, lest he fall from his saddle, but he did not venture to trouble him -with further speech. Thus the breaking day came upon them, as they -trotted through a bit of wet woodland, and Hugh at last could see his -comrade’s white face, that looked gray in the uncertain light, and -thought to make out a dark splotch upon the back of his coat. At the -farther verge of the wood, where a small brook, flowing across the road, -broadened into a pool on the right, Strangwayes reined in his horse with -two or three one-handed jerks at the bridle. “You’ll have to try your -’prentice hand at surgery,” he said, as Hugh sprang down from the bay; -“adventures do often entail such postscripts.” - -“Do not make a jest of it,” Hugh answered chokedly, and putting his arm -about Strangwayes helped him to climb from the saddle and to seat -himself on the brink of the pool. He still kept his arm about his -friend, and now, feeling something damp against his sleeve, he looked -closer and found the back of Strangwayes’ coat was all wet and warm. -“’Tis here you’re wounded?” he cried. - -“Yes, in the back,” the other replied, with a half-suppressed groan. “A -brave place for a gentleman to take his first hurt! Draw my coat off, -gently. Now take my knife and rip off my shirt. ’Twill serve for -bandages.” - -Somehow Hugh mastered the nervous trembling in his fingers sufficiently -to cut away the shirt, upon which the broad stain of red showed with -sickening clearness. Beneath, Strangwayes’ back was slimy with blood, -and the dark drops were oozing from a jagged wound in the fleshy part of -the left shoulder. Strangwayes, who was sitting with his full weight -thrown upon his right arm, never uttered sound nor winced, but Hugh sank -down on his knees, and for a moment felt too faint to do more than -support his friend with his arm. - - “‘O dinna ye see the red heart’s blood - Run trickling down my knee,’” - -Strangwayes half hummed, and turned his head to look at Hugh. His brows -were puckered with pain, but there was the ghost of a smile on his lips -as he drawled, “Why, Hughie, man, methinks I be the one to feel sick, -not you.” - -Thereat Hugh set his teeth, and, shamed into strength by the other’s -courage, dipped half the cut shirt into the brook and washed the wound, -tenderly as he was able, then made shift to bandage it, as Strangwayes -directed. “Well, I’m still wearing a shirt,” the latter said, as Hugh -carefully helped him into his coat, “but ’tis not in the usual way. You -must fasten my coat up to my chin, Hugh, and pray none note my lack of -linen, nor the bullet-hole in the back. What a place to be wounded!” - -The rim of the sun was just showing above the eastern trees when they -started to horse once more. Strangwayes, leaning heavily on Hugh, -managed to climb into his saddle, and then he let his hand rest a moment -on the boy’s shoulder, while he looked down at him. “So you are troubled -for me?” he asked dryly. - -“More than I would be for any man, unless ’twere my father.” - -“You’re a brave lad, Hugh,” Strangwayes said irrelevantly. “I would fain -hug you, if I would not topple out of my saddle if I tried. I thank -Heaven ’twas not you got hurt by my fool’s trick last night.” Then he -put his horse slowly forward, so Hugh mounted the bay and came after. - -They went at a gentler pace now, by the highway or by short cuts through -the fields, for Strangwayes knew this country well, he explained, from -his old experience in the king’s army. He kept a little in advance, one -hand on the bridle rein, the other arm limp, and his whole body stooping -a trifle forward. Hugh realized with a helpless pang that his friend was -suffering, he dared not think how much, nor how it might end, yet he was -powerless to aid him. Once, when they rode through a village where the -people were astir about their morning business, he begged Strangwayes to -stop and have his wound looked to, at least have drink to strengthen -him. But the other shook his head, then spoke with pauses between -phrases: “They’d not succor me for love, Hugh; we are not strong enough -to force them; and for the rest, I’ve not a shilling to soften them.” - -“How?” - -“What I had was none too much to give that maid for the saving of our -liberty, perchance our lives. At least, I rate my life thus high.” - -“And that I could be angry with you for such a matter as fooling with -her!” Hugh broke out penitently. - -“’Tis for a man’s advantage to be friendly with all women,” Strangwayes -answered in a matter-of-fact tone. “Had I sulked in her presence, like -some haughty gentlemen I know of, we’d be tramping the road to a rebel -prison now, Hugh. That knave Emry! I contrived to reach him a crack on -the head with the butt of my pistol as I rode out, he’ll remember some -days.” - -But after that one burst of everyday speech Strangwayes lapsed again -into silence, with so slack a hold on the reins that Hugh, coming close -alongside, ventured now and then to put hand to the bit and guide the -black horse. Lines of pain were deepening in the wounded man’s brows and -about his white lips, and once, as they descended a steep pitch -abruptly, he only half stifled a groan. - -So when they reached the next village Hugh took matters into his own -hands by pulling up both horses before a wayside tavern. “What’s to do?” -Strangwayes asked listlessly. - -“I am going to get you drink,” Hugh answered, and jumping down from his -horse entered the tavern and made for the common room. There he found a -surly tapster, and, trying hard to be civil and yet not abject, begged: -“Can you give me a glass of aqua vitæ? I’ve a wounded friend here—” - -To which the tapster simply responded: “Pack!” - -Hugh gave back a step or two, and then, with the feeling that -Strangwayes might be dying and he must do something, however desperate, -pulled out his pistol. “I must have that aqua vitæ,” he said quietly. -“Either you give it me or I go fetch it. Make up your mind.” - -Instead the tapster drew away to the door, bawling for assistance till -he roused up another man and a maid and the hostess herself. Hugh, with -his back to the wall and the pistol in his hand, felt unjustified and -ashamed, but, the thought of Strangwayes nerving him, repeated his -request to the hostess. She fell to rating him shrilly for a bullying -swashbuckler to frighten a poor woman so, and, as the men would not -check her and Hugh could not use his pistol for argument here, she was -like to keep it up some time. Happily the maid, who had peered out at -the window, broke in with a glowing account of the fine horses and the -poor wounded gentleman, whereat the landlady, after boxing the wench’s -ears for gaping out of doors, bounced over to the casement. The sight of -Dick Strangwayes or of the horses must have softened her, for after an -instant’s gazing she began to rate the tapster and bade him fetch what -the young gentleman required. - -When Hugh came out triumphant with the glass of spirits he found the -rest of the inn people gathered about the horses, and the hostess very -pressingly urging Strangwayes to light and rest at her house. She was -but too glad to help a gentleman fallen on misfortune, she explained, -especially when the gentleman served the king, bless him! His Majesty -and all his men had passed through there and some of them had lain in -her house only the night before. - -“Then we’ll soon be up with your friends, Dick,” Hugh urged, trying to -speak cheerfully. - -Strangwayes just nodded, then drank the hostess’s health in the aqua -vitæ, and with a flicker of energy bade Hugh get to his saddle. As they -left the little knot of staring people behind them, he turned his face -toward Hugh and, forcing his drawn lips into a smile, asked: “You raided -those inn folk? You’re learning bravely, my Spanish Puritan.” - -Then he became silent and suffered the gallant pace at which he had set -out to slacken. The black showed a tendency to veer from one side of the -road to the other, till at last, not above two miles from the tavern, -Strangwayes dropped the bridle rein into Hugh’s ready hand. “You must -lead the horse a bit,” he said wearily. “I’ll rest me.” - -Of those last miles Hugh kept only blurred recollections, among which -the dazzle of sunlight upon the firm road beneath the horses’ feet, the -sight of men laboring in tilled fields, and the smell of moist woods, -recurred vaguely. Through all the shifting changes of the wayside -Strangwayes, as he sat bowing over the pommel of his saddle with his -pallid face hidden on his breast, was alone a living reality. - -The long piece of woodland ended at last, and across the fields the -roofs of a village came in sight. To the left horses grazing in a meadow -whickered to the passing chargers, and then the riders trotted slowly in -among the houses. There was a smith’s shop, Hugh remembered, about which -lounged men in great boots and buff jackets, and before the village inn -were more in the same attire. Hugh reined up there, scarcely knowing -what he purposed, but before he could dismount a young man with long -light brown hair, who wore a scarlet sash across his jacket, advanced -from the inn door. “King’s men?” the stranger asked. “Why, what has -befallen here?” - -Strangwayes raised his chin a trifle, then his head sank again. “Who -commands?” he asked faintly. - -“Captain Dennis Butler.” - -“Tell him, Richard Strangwayes seeks him. He—” There the voice trailed -off inaudibly. - -Hugh leaned a little from his saddle and got his arm about his friend. -Men were hurrying forward curiously, but of a sudden they drew aside to -make way for a thick-set officer with a black beard, who came striding -through their midst. “On my soul, ’tis Dicky Strangwayes!” he cried, -halting at the injured man’s stirrup. “Gad, but you’re come in good -time! We can give you a bottle of Burgundy to crack or a rebel throat to -cut—” - -“Ah, Captain, if you’ll give me a bed, I ask nothing else of you,” -Strangwayes gasped out, and pitched forward, half into Butler’s arms. - -They had him off the horse and two of the troopers carried him into the -house, so speedily that Hugh got only a glimpse of his friend’s -deathlike face. He jumped down, intent on following, but the youngish -officer with the light hair, paying him no heed, walked away and left -him to the curious troopers. They asked him many questions touching -Strangwayes and how he had been hurt, which Hugh, with eyes on the door -by which his comrade had disappeared, could only answer disjointedly. -Presently a man came out and, saying that Guidon Allestree had so -ordered it, led the black and the bay off to be groomed and fed. Still -unbidden Hugh followed into the stable yard, where, sitting down on the -shaft of a cart, he stared at the inn till he knew every angle of its -timbered roof. He realized vaguely that men passed him by, and one -group, loafing near at hand in the shelter of a shed, he heard talking -loudly together. Once, when they were complaining of the lack of liquor -at this tavern, he was aware that one grumbled, “No wonder; Gwyeth’s men -lay here yesternight.” - -Even that seemed not to be personal to Hugh, and he still sat staring at -the blank inn windows, while he wondered to what room they had carried -Strangwayes. At last he could endure the suspense no longer, but taking -his courage in his hand walked into the house, where, halfway up the -stairs, he met the light-haired man. “I pray you, may I not see Master -Strangwayes?” Hugh blurted out his business at once. - -“The surgeon has forbidden it. They have but just cut out the bullet, -and he is too weak to be worried.” - -“Is there—much danger?” Hugh faltered. - -“Nay, very little. A mere ugly flesh wound, but he has lost much blood -and is near exhausted.—Come, come, don’t give way like that, boy,” the -young man added, as a sob of sheer relief escaped Hugh. “Your master’ll -be sound enough in a couple of weeks.” - -Hugh looked up with his face aflame; because his clothes were ragged was -no reason that the young officer should take him for a horse-boy. “Will -you be so good as tell Dick I am glad he is recovered?” he said slowly. -“And give him back his pistol here, and tell him since he is in the -hands of friends I have gone about my own affairs.” - -So saying he went down the stairs and, without a single glance at the -light-haired officer, passed out into the courtyard. He would not hang -about the place a moment longer, he vowed, but then he reproached -himself for deserting Strangwayes and had half a mind to go back, when -by chance he caught sight of the same group of loungers he remembered -had spoken of Colonel Gwyeth. On the impulse he went to them and, -questioning them, learned that not only had Colonel Alan Gwyeth been -that very morning at the inn, but he was now not above eight miles -distant at Shrewsbury. - -At that Hugh faced about and took the highway for the great town. It was -not deserting Dick Strangwayes now, he told himself, for his father -would doubtless let him have a horse and ride back next day to see his -friend, and in any case he must go forward, lest his father be off to -some other part of the country. So during the sunny last hours of the -afternoon he hurried along, scarcely observing the villages through -which he passed nor the men on foot or horseback whom he met or -overtook, in the eager hope at each turn of the road that he would come -upon Shrewsbury steeples. He hardly felt sleepy from last night’s long -watch, nor stiff with his rough ride, just eager and happy. When he -thought of Strangwayes it was only to be thankful that his hurt had not -proved mortal, and to be glad that the skirmish at the “Golden Ram” had -happened. For now he could go to his father, not a raw schoolboy, but a -young gentleman who had been under fire; he was just a bit sorry he had -not himself been wounded. - -But when at length he saw the last horizontal rays of the sun upon the -clustered roofs of Shrewsbury, his happy mood seemed to end. It was all -too good to be true; once before he had thought himself almost in his -fathers arms and he had been deceived. He hardly dared ask a countryman -if the king were lodging in the town yonder, and, finding it true, could -not walk forward fast enough, lest before he came up his Majesty should -move away. - -Walk fast as he would, twilight was deepening when he entered the town, -but hordes of people—gaping country folk, sober burghers, swaggering -troopers, gayly dressed gentlemen—made the dusky streets lively as by -day. Among them all Hugh forced a path, jostled and pushed, and pushing -in his turn. He began inquiring of those he met if Colonel Alan Gwyeth -lodged in the town, and some had not heard the name, and some knew such -an officer was with the king but knew not where he lay. At last he -chanced upon a foot soldier who directed him for Alan Gwyeth’s lodgings -to the west gate of the town. Thither Hugh tramped to search the -neighborhood for the house and get cursed for disturbing people, but -still he persisted in his search, though there would creep in upon him a -hopeless feeling that it had all been delusion from the first and he -never would find his father. - -In the end he got a direction that took him out a quarter-mile beyond -the west gate to an old timbered house that sat close upon the road; -knocking and making his usual inquiry of a curt servant, he found that -Colonel Alan Gwyeth lodged there. Almost unable to believe it, Hugh -repeated the words blankly after the servant, then stood staring at him -without speaking till the door was nearly shut in his face. He stayed it -with one hand, while he asked to see the colonel. - -“He is hence with other gentlemen this evening; I know not when he will -return,” was the short reply before the door was closed in good earnest. - -Hugh still stood on the steps, trying to comprehend that it was all -true; in a few hours his father, the tall reddish-haired man, would be -walking up to that very door. He would see him, at last. He went slowly -down to the road, and then paused; if he walked away his father might -come, for the evening was already half spent. He decided it would be -better to wait there, so he went up the steps again and sat down. - -At first he had no lack of company; horsemen went swinging by, and -groups of men, some staidly, some boisterously with shouts and songs, -passed in the road below him. Hugh listened with ears alert and as each -dark form drew near asked himself if that might be the one. Gradually as -the evening wore on passers-by became less frequent and Hugh wearied of -starting at each new step. He became aware, too, that he was stiff with -sitting in one position and the night was cold enough to make his -clothes of small protection. He looked up at the sharp stars and counted -them and picked out those he knew. Then he changed his position once -more, and fell to thinking how good a hot meal would taste; he had not -eaten food since the supper of the night before. And he was tired, too; -he leaned his head against the railing of the stairs, and, just closing -his eyes, saw the trees and fields of the night ride go by, and saw -Strangwayes’ white face, and saw the face of the tall man who used to -carry him on his shoulder. - -A great noise of talking made him rouse up, wondering dazedly if he had -slept. Somebody was shouting out a drinking song, and others, with -voices crisp in the chilly air, were disputing together. A torch seemed -to glare in his very face, and a man, the first of several stumbling up -the steps, nearly fell over him, and swore at him, then dragged him to -his feet with a rough, “What are you doing here, sirrah?” - -Rubbing the dazzle of the light out of his eyes, Hugh saw five or six -men about him on the steps, two with torches, who seemed mere troopers, -and the others finely dressed. “Is—Colonel Gwyeth here?” he faltered, -with a half hope that the meeting might be deferred a bit longer. - -“Here, Alan, this gentleman has commands for you,” some one called, and -laughed. - -At that another man came briskly up from the street and, shoving the -others aside, pushed under the light of the torches. A man of short -forty years, and but little above middle height, Hugh perceived, in a -velvet suit with a plumed hat and a cloak wrapped up to his chin. -Beneath the torchlight his long hair and close-trimmed beard seemed the -color of gold, and he had blue eyes that looked angry and his face was -flushed. “What’s to do here?” he asked curtly, and a trick of the tone -set Hugh’s memory struggling for something that had long been past. -“What do you want of me, you knave?” - -Hugh looked up at the flushed, impatient face, and, stammering to find -words, wished it were all over and these men gone, and he were alone -with this stranger; then he hesitated desperately, “Colonel Gwyeth, if -it like you, I am your son.” - -Somebody laughed foolishly, and another began, “’Tis a wise child—” but -Alan Gwyeth looked Hugh over and then, turning on his heel with a curt -“The devil you are!” walked through the open door into the house. The -others tramped noisily after him; some one gave Hugh a hasty shove that -sent him pitching to the foot of the steps, and as he recovered himself -he heard the house-door slammed. - - - CHAPTER VII - HOW THE WORLD DEALT BY A GENTLEMAN - - -He could get only a broken sleep, because of a door that was always -slamming; sometimes men were laughing, too, but the crash of the closing -door was louder still, so loud Hugh woke at last. “It was all a bad -dream,” he said in his thoughts, with a lightening of the heart that -made him feel like his old self. But next moment his hand touched the -damp boards of the doorway in which he was crouched and found them real; -across the roadway the dim houses, with the mist that comes before day -hanging over them, were real; and so was the blank sky. Then all that -had happened last night was true: there was a lad named Hugh Gwyeth, -whose father would have none of him, who had not a friend to turn to, -nor a penny to his name, nor, except for this cold doorway whither he -had crawled, a place to lay his head. Hugh sat up and, as if it were -another man’s concern, checked it all off dispassionately. - -Just then a drunken trooper came reeling down the empty street, and Hugh -found himself making nice calculations as to whether the man’s zig-zag -progress would plunge him into a muddy puddle just opposite the doorway, -or bring him safely by on the far side. When the fellow staggered past -unsplashed Hugh lost interest in him, and began counting the windows of -the opposite houses, that were slowly lighting up with the dawn. -Presently a man on a red horse came clicking down the narrow way, then -two men helping a comrade home, then a little squad of foot soldiers -under a brisk officer; and after that townsmen and stray troopers came -in greater numbers, the doors and windows opened, and the day began. - -All the long morning Hugh tramped the streets of Shrewsbury, aimlessly, -for he had nowhere to go. Everscombe was not to be thought of; even if -he had been at the very gates of the manor house, even if his -grandfather had found it in his heart to relent, the affair at the -“Golden Ram” would have made forgiveness impossible to his kinsfolk. -Neither could he go back to Strangwayes, who had lent him a horse for -which his father was to pay; at least the bay would compensate for that, -but he had no right to ask farther kindness which he could never return. -And then Strangwayes’ new friends had shown him out of doors; perhaps -Dick would not care to have him come back. - -With such broken reflections Hugh loitered through the town, and now and -again, in gazing at the swarming men and brave horses that filled the -streets, tried to forget his miserable plight. About noon he stood many -minutes in a gutter and listlessly watched a great body of horse march -by. He heard some one say the king was going northward on an expedition, -and he asked himself if Colonel Gwyeth went too, and was troubled an -instant till he realized that he had now no call to follow. - -Then he let all that pass, and thought only that the autumn air was -chilly and he was hungry, so that though he pulled his belt a notch -tighter it availed nothing. A man must eat, and out in the world food -came only by work, he realized; and with that he fell to wondering if -there were any labor to which he might turn his hand. A small knowledge -of Latin, small skill with a sword, and the ability to back a -horse,—that summed up his accomplishments. Hugh told them over with a -feeling that either he had not been equipped for such a fortune as this, -or he had struck out for himself long before his education was -completed. But if he could ride and handle a sword he might turn -trooper, so, coming in sight of a smith’s shop and men, one of whom -looked a petty officer, lounging about it, he ventured up shyly and, as -the fellows were in good humor, questioned them tentatively, if they -might not perhaps care to enroll him among them. They only laughed at -him, and the petty officer bade him run home and grow. With his hopes a -bit dashed Hugh walked away, but, strengthened by having a purpose, -tramped the town all the afternoon in search of employment among the -horse soldiery. But those he applied to either lost their tempers and -swore at him, or laughed and chaffed him; and the foot soldiers, to whom -he finally offered himself, were even more contemptuous. “You? ’Twould -need another fellow to bear your musket,” the last man he questioned -answered him gruffly. - -That night Hugh slept in the sheltered corner of an alley, and two -officers, tramping through at midnight with a torchbearer, stumbled over -him. One kicked him, the other, glancing at him, flung him a penny -before he passed on. When the coin fell beside him Hugh did not move, -but after the torch had blinked out of sight he groped his hand along -the damp ground, shaking with nervousness that he did not find the -penny, and, as his fingers closed on it, almost sobbed with relief. He -sought out a bakehouse at once, and sitting on some dingy steps opposite -waited the hungry hours till morning broke, the shop opened, and -bursting in headlong he could buy his bread. It went very quickly, -leaving him hungrier than ever, but he got no more till next morning, -when a gentleman paid him twopence for holding his horse. - -He had now given over tramping the town, for he knew it was useless; he -had sought employment in every troop in Shrewsbury, and everywhere he -had been rebuffed. So the most of the day he sat on a doorstep and, idly -watching the street and the sky, tried to forget what life had looked -like four days ago. When he was ordered off the step he loitered slowly -out by the western gate, and, finding him a snug corner in the lee of a -shed opposite a wayside alehouse, lay down for the night. He was -beginning now to get a realization of what had befallen, as a man who -has been stunned recovers consciousness with a sense of pain, and he had -a feeling that if he could have cried a long time it would have eased -him, but the hard manhood that had been thrust upon him would not suffer -that nor anything which might relieve him. - -Toward morning a noise of loud singing woke him. He tried to sleep -again, but the singing worried him and besides he felt cold and cramped. -He rose at last to stretch himself, and stepping out into the road saw, -sprawled across the doorstone of the alehouse, a big dark figure that -was yelling lustily at the sky. “Have you come at last?” the fellow -cried, “I said to myself,—maybe you heard me,—‘Bob, if thou keepst it up -time enough some mother’s son will come.’ Look ’ee here, lad, you’re to -do me a kindness. I am quite sober, mark you, sober as parson himself, -but somewhat is amiss with my legs. An you’ll aid me to the stable -you’ll do his Majesty a great service.” - -There might be a ha’penny at the end of it, so Hugh suffered the -trooper, as he judged the man to be, to lean on him, and they set out -unsteadily. What with keeping his charge erect and looking to the rough -highway lest they both go down, he paid little heed to the landmarks, -though once, at a half-articulate order from his companion, he swerved -over to the left and, keeping a dark house on one hand, walked toward a -dim light. They were just near enough for Hugh to perceive it shone from -an isolated low building, when an armed man challenged them, but at a -thick reply from the trooper let them go stumbling on. The familiar -stamp of horses was now audible, the light shone clearer, and at last -Hugh guided his shambling comrade in at the open door of a stable. On -either hand the uncertain light of a brace of lanterns showed rows of -dim stanchions and tethered horses, before it merged away into the dark -lofts and vast roof. In the centre of the stable the lanterns flung a -clear circle of yellow light, and there four fully armed carabineers, -seated on kegs or sprawling on the floor, were playing at dice. The -sound of footsteps made them look up, and one half swore, while another -started as if to sweep up dice and boxes. “Does this man belong to you?” -Hugh asked desperately, for his companion, with his florid face suddenly -turned melancholy, was leaning against the doorpost and blinked at the -light, but said nothing. - -“Yes, he belongs to us,” replied one with a beard, who seemed the leader -of the party, “the more sorrow to us.” He threw his dice deliberately: -“Seven-tray-cinque.—Pitch him down on the hay yonder.” - -“Nick, how can you use a comrade so?” maundered the prodigal, as Hugh -helped him across the stable and suffered him to roll over on a heap of -hay. - -“Be thankful you get no worse. If old Jack Ridydale had not shogged off -with the troop to Chester, you’d get the devil for this; he’s the man -could give it you.” - -“Hardwyn has mind to make himself such another,” said one of the younger -and less assured men. - -“Jeff Hardwyn is a cursed better soldier than ever thou’lt be,” Nick -replied concisely, and the play went on. - -None took heed of Hugh, so, after a moment’s hesitation, he sat down on -the loose hay, where his drunken friend had fallen sound asleep. He had -no call to linger, but the hay was far softer than the ground of the -streets, so he sat there and listened to the gruff talk of the men and -the click of the dice. At length he stretched himself out, and, watching -the dim lanterns flicker, he, too, went to sleep. - -Of a sudden he was wakened by some one’s pitching him roughly off the -hay. There was dull morning light in the stable now, men were feeding -and grooming horses, and right over him stood a shock-headed fellow, -with more of the peasant than the trooper still visible in him, who -demanded, “What beest thou here for?” - -“’Twas no harm,” Hugh answered, getting up stiffly; he had meant to walk -away, but in the stable there was at least a roof over him, and he -hesitated. “I can feed your horse for you,” he ventured. - -“Then run fetch a bucket of water,” the other commanded. Hugh caught up -the bucket, and, hurrying out into the chill of the morning, found -between the stable and the big house a well where he drew the water, as -he was bidden. After that he fetched more water, brought fodder, rubbed -down a horse,—it was marvellous the amount of work that could be found -for an extra pair of hands to do. But, weary and faint though he was, -Hugh labored on bravely, with a special effort to satisfy Jonas Unger, -the trooper who had first roused him, in which he succeeded so well that -when at last the men tramped away to breakfast Unger permitted him to -follow along. Crossing an open space betwixt the great house and the -stables, they came out through a hedge-gap upon a byway and scattered -cottages where the carabineers were quartered. Hugh slunk into the -common room of one of these cottages at the heels of Unger and the man -called Nick Cowper, and there, sitting at table, with white lips and -heavy eyes, found the roisterer he had helped home the night before. Bob -Saxon, as his mates called the fellow, was past much talk this morning, -and the others were in tolerably good temper, so Hugh was suffered to -take a share of their rations, which he ate on the doorstone. The food -was coarse, but there was almost enough to satisfy him, so, in the hope -of earning more, when the men went back to the stables he followed them. - -After a time a curt officer entered the stable, and, ordering the little -troop to horse, led it away to be exercised. Hugh cleaned out a stall -and had some speech with other ragged hangers-on who made refuge in the -stable, but, liking the company little, soon held his peace and gave -heed only to his work. About noon the troop returned with the horses all -sweaty, and a deal of unharnessing and rubbing down to be done. Hugh -came forward to take his share and was removing the saddle from Saxon’s -horse, when he thought to hear mention of a name that made his hands -shake at their task. Pausing to look up, he saw it was a sunburned man -with a twist of mustache who was speaking: “Ay, ’twas one of the -colonel’s men brought the tidings. The king has surely taken in -Chester.” - -“Good news, in truth, Corporal Hardwyn!” replied Cowper, whom the man -addressed. “And we tied here to hammer wit into dunder-pated raw levies! -Ay, ’twas like Colonel Gwyeth to serve us such a trick.” - -Hugh heard no more for the rush of blood to his temples; still he could -not believe his bad fortune had served him such a cruel turn, so, when -he had put Saxon’s horse into its stall, he went up to Cowper and asked -point-blank: “An’t like you, who commands this troop?” - -“What is that to you, sirrah?” asked Cowper. - -“Is it—Alan Gwyeth?” Hugh persisted. - -“Yes, hang you!” replied the man, and boxed his ears for asking. - -Even as he reeled back with his face tingling, Hugh found room in his -heart to be thankful that he had told no one his name. These knaves must -never know it was their commander’s son whom they had the right to knock -about. Perhaps the dignity of his family required that he should leave -the place at once, he reflected dolefully, as he groomed Cowper’s horse; -but, after all, it was better to drudge for his father’s troopers than -to beg in Shrewsbury streets. - -So Hugh stayed on at the troop stables, where he groomed horses, and -cleaned stalls, and fetched and carried with all the strength and -readiness necessary to please a score of rough masters. From day’s end -to day’s end it was hard, hateful labor with no sign of release. Once, -to be sure, at the news that the king had returned from Chester, -something that was half hope and half dread awoke in him, for there was -a chance that at any hour Colonel Gwyeth might come to the stables. But -soon he learned that his father had gone foraying to the eastward, so -even that small hope vanished, and life meant only to work with all his -strength, sleep on the hay, share the troopers’ rations, and through all -endure such abuse and brutality as they might choose to inflict upon -him. - -It was not long before Hugh dropped his old methods of classification -and grouped men in two great divisions: those who struck at you for the -fun of seeing you dodge, and those who struck to hurt you. Of the former -class was Bob Saxon, who had a certain good nature about him, though his -horseplay was apt to be rough. He had been to the wars in Germany, Hugh -gathered from the big stories the fellow told, and for that reason Hugh -felt drawn toward him; at least, Saxon knew the land where he had been -born, and he knew Colonel Gwyeth. “There’s a man would take a trot -through hell, if he had the word,” he once said admiringly of the -colonel, whereat Hugh felt a feeble thrill of pride, and held his chin -higher, till Cowper happened along and set him to cleaning his boots. -Hugh considered there was nothing good to be said for Nick Cowper; he -had an unconscious knack of setting tasks that peculiarly unbefitted a -gentleman, while at all times he was brutal with the fierce roughness of -a seasoned campaigner, who struck to hurt. To be sure, no malice seemed -behind his brutality; it was merely his way of reducing command to terms -of the senses, but that gave small remedy to Hugh’s skin or to his -wounded dignity, when Cowper sent him stumbling about his work with his -lip cut or his nose bleeding. - -But Hugh was to learn there were rougher dealers even than Cowper, when -he came into conflict with Jeff Hardwyn, the corporal. He was one who -seldom lifted his hand against any man, but when he ordered the troopers -obeyed; and Hugh, with a feeling that he must not get the fellow’s -ill-will, jumped to do his bidding and called him “sir.” But, for all -these poor defences, he at last fell under the corporal’s displeasure, -by such trivial happenings that even looking back he did not understand -how it had come to pass. There had been a day of heavy rains that turned -the roads to mud, in the midst of which Unger sent Hugh tramping through -Shrewsbury in quest of a man he was not able to find. When the boy -returned late in the afternoon, drenched and tired, he discovered the -whole errand had been a mere hoax for the diversion of Unger and Saxon -and the half-dozen others who were loafing in the dry stable. “Next -time, pray you take a fair day to be witty,” Hugh said, trying not to -show temper, and was starting out to forage hungrily for dinner when -Hardwyn bade him stop and tighten a buckle on his saddle girth. Pulling -off his coat, Hugh turned to the job, which he found harder than he -thought, so he did it hastily, then ran out to seek his dinner, and, for -his late coming, got none at all. - -But when he splashed wearily back to the stable he suddenly forgot all -the petty misadventures of the luckless day, for over by the stalls -Hardwyn was standing with his brows drawn together ominously. “Can you -not tighten a buckle better than that?” he asked, and tapped the saddle -at his feet with the toe of his boot. - -“I did it as well as I knew, sir,” Hugh replied. - -“Well, I’ll learn you to do it better next time,” said Hardwyn without -temper, and crossing the stable picked up a heavy horsewhip. - -Hugh thought that the heart had gone out of his body, so weak and empty -of strength did he feel. He had been whipped many times, at school and -at Everscombe, but he knew this would be different, and he was half -afraid, yet he did not run. Indeed, when Hardwyn took him by the neck of -his shirt, he looked up and said quietly, “I am not going to run away.” - -“No, I’ll wager you’re not,” Hardwyn answered, and brought the whip -stinging down across his back. - -Hugh heard his shirt rip in the grasp on his neck, and he felt a foolish -concern over it; he saw the loose spears of hay scattered on the dingy -floor at his feet; and he wondered why, since he had not meant to -struggle, he had twisted up one arm and griped Hardwyn’s wrist that held -him. He knew that he was counting the blows, eleven so far, but he durst -not open his lips lest in spite of himself he cry out. Were the cuts of -the whip bringing blood, he wondered? He did not hear the strokes, but -he counted them by feeling; at first each had seemed distinct and left a -lingering smart, but now his whole back was wincing and quivering. He -heard Hardwyn draw a deep breath and for a second hoped he might stop, -but there came another slash of the whip. Then, of a sudden, it was -borne in on him that Hardwyn meant to flog him till he cried. Hugh set -his teeth tight on his lip and only thought, “I will not, I will not,” -and felt the whip-cuts, nothing more, till the floor seemed blurry and -came nearer, and his shirt ripped again. Then he heard Saxon’s voice: -“Don’t kill the lad, sir.” - -“Curse his stubbornness!” Hardwyn panted out, and then there were other -blows of which Hugh kept no count. He only knew that at the last he -found himself free to reel over against the boards of a stall, and, -without glancing at the other men around them, he looked up into -Hardwyn’s flushed face a long minute. Then, still keeping hold on the -stall, he made a step toward the door, but Hardwyn picked up the saddle -and flung it down before him. “Mend that aright now,” he ordered, “and, -harkee, if ever you bungle another piece of work like that, I’ll flay -you alive.” - -Without a word Hugh took up the saddle and tightened the buckle. His -fingers shook, he noted, and once, when he put his hand to his mouth, he -felt his lip was bleeding where he had bitten it. But he had not cried -or spoken, nor would he; when the saddle was put to rights he flung it -over its peg, and, still keeping silence, walked out of the stable -toward the highway. - -So long as he was in sight of the men he walked with tolerable -erectness, but he knew it could not last long and he must get away from -every one, so he struck across the road into the fields. There he turned -eastward on a course that would finally bring him round Shrewsbury to -the main highway. For eastward lay the village where he had left -Strangwayes; Dick would protect him, he knew, and yet he knew he was not -going to him. - -As well walk eastward as another way, though, but he ached from head to -foot and his back throbbed painfully; so at last, on a bleak hilltop, he -sat down to rest, and watched the twilight close in. A little below him -he could see the dim roofs of Shrewsbury and the purpling sky above. The -western star came out first, and, as the night darkened, many more -showed till he lost count of them and turned his eyes to the lights of -the town. As he gazed thither he caught, clear and vibrant on the still -air, the note of a bell. On the instant the foolish old tale of Dick -Whittington came back to him: “Turn again, turn again.” Then he -remembered how Lois and he had spoke together the day before he set out -from Everscombe; and, when he had hoped for Whittington’s fortune, she -had answered that his father would be glad to see him. - -Of a sudden Hugh found himself lying face down in the wet grass of the -hillside with his fingers digging into the turf. If he were only dead, -now while he still possessed some shred of self-respect! He could not go -on living, a mere horse-boy, everybody’s drudge, with his highest hope -to be some day a swaggering private trooper, and then to be knocked on -the head in a petty skirmish. It was so piteously different from the -soldierly life he had planned, but he did not ask for that now, only not -to be bullied and flogged any more. - -Then that mood passed, and he knew only that he was cold in his torn -shirt and his back was sore so he was loath to move. But the cold at -last forced him to his feet and set him pacing up and down the wet -grass; he still loved life enough to exert himself to keep it. Then he -began to realize that, after all, he had acted like a child. Was this -life so much less endurable than that at Everscombe? Was it worse to -earn his living of a gang of brutal troopers than be dependent on -grudging relatives? If he did get more blows, a man must not whimper for -that, and he was now a man. Neither must a man go crying to his friends; -rather the thing that best befitted a gentleman was to accept the life -he had taken up and go on bravely. - -So, in the early hours of the morning, Hugh Gwyeth faced westward and -tramped back to the stables. Reaching there about dawn, he walked in as -usual, and taking up a bucket, went to draw water. He had a curious -sense of not feeling ashamed nor abashed, as he thought to feel when -facing the men once more, but rather proud of himself and of more -dignity than ever. He had no hope, however, of being a hero in the sight -of the troopers. Some of them chaffed him over his beating and his -slinking back again. “You wanted more of the same, did you?” Hardwyn -asked dryly, whereat the others laughed. Saxon chaffed him too; but -later, when Hugh came to the cottage for breakfast, he asked him roughly -if the whip had drawn blood, and then he helped the boy to wash off his -hurt back. - -By next day every one had forgotten that Hardwyn had flogged him, and -life went on in its old course. Only Hugh took it now as an accepted -thing; there was no escape, so he would make the best of it, do as he -was bidden, dodge what blows he could, and, what he could not dodge, -bear without flinching. He even contrived, so long as he could busy -himself about the horses, to find a sort of negative pleasure in the -life. To groom and feed and water the great, friendly animals did not -seem menial, but this made only a part of the day’s routine, and Hugh’s -pride could not yet stoop willingly to cleaning boots and fetching beer. -The last was the most humiliating employment of all; though he might -reconcile himself to slipping into an obscure corner and cleaning the -boots of a man who was older than he and a better soldier, he felt that -to tramp a quarter-mile on the highway with a brace of jugs and fetch -bad beer from an alehouse for a crew of peasant troopers could never -befit a gentleman. - -Late of an October afternoon he was trudging back to the stable from -such an errand, when he met a gay company of horsemen and, to save being -trampled on, halted at one side of the road till they should pass. By -chance he glanced up and among the riders saw one very young gentleman -with yellow curls, who wore a fine blue velvet suit and a big hat, and -bestrode a dainty roan mare. Hugh caught his breath and looked again, -then dodged headlong back from the road, in behind a cottage out of -sight. Halting there a moment he instinctively looked himself -over,—ragged shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the shoulders, ragged -breeches stained with mud, half-worn boothose, and shoes that were -falling to pieces. He wondered if Frank Pleydall, in his fine clothes, -on his good horse, had recognized him, and he thought it unlikely. With -a foolish dread of a second encounter he made his way back to the stable -through the fields; the going was rough, and he now perceived much of -the beer had slopped out of the jugs. “I shall be flogged for that,” he -told himself, and, with something that was not jealousy but hurt him -keenly, he wondered if Frank Pleydall knew what a happy lad he was. - -But, much as he expected it, Hugh did not get a flogging; for when he -came into the stable yard he found strange horses standing there, and -two or three troopers he did not know, and his own acquaintances looked -energetic and on good behavior, so much perturbed they did not even rate -him about the beer. “The colonel is back from the eastward,” Unger -explained, “and Corporal Ridydale is on our shoulders again.” - -“He’ll send you packing,” Cowper spoke cheerfully to Hugh. - -Just then Saxon, riding in, called to Hugh to groom his well-bespattered -horse, so the boy, eager though he was to hear more, must walk away with -the beast to the open floor of the stable, where he fell to work. It -darkened and lanterns were lit; one was hung from a stanchion, and just -beneath Hugh saw a stranger standing, a tall, thickset man of middle age -with a heavy beard, who seemed to have an eye for all the business of -the stable, and at whose word men moved to obey, even more readily than -they did for Hardwyn. He must be John Ridydale, Hugh decided, so he got -Saxon’s horse betwixt them, and, working briskly, hoped he might not be -noticed. But presently Ridydale stopped giving orders, and Hugh, getting -uneasy at his silence and looking sidewise at the man, found he was -gazing at him with his brows drawn together. Hugh feigned to be very -busy with the horse, but the currycomb moved unsteadily in his hand, -while he waited, and wondered if Ridydale would kick him out of the -stable at once or let him stay long enough to get his supper. Then he -heard a heavy step and, looking up and finding the corporal beside him, -drew back a pace warily; but the other griped him by the shoulder with a -sharp, “What’s your name, lad?” - -“Hugh.” - -“What else?” - -“Nothing else, sir.” - -Hugh had his arm half raised to shield his head, but Ridydale did not -strike at him, only said with something strangely like kindliness, “Come -outside here.” - -There were horses at the trough by the door, Hugh noted, and through the -stable yard a twilight mist, in which the cottage lights looked blurry, -was shutting down. They had drawn away from any stray troopers, and now, -right by the hedge, Ridydale, with his grasp still on Hugh’s shoulder, -halted him and asked, “The rest of the name mightn’t be Gwyeth, perhaps, -master?” - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - THE INTERPOSITION OF JOHN RIDYDALE - - -It shamed Hugh afterward to remember how overwhelmingly, at that first -dim prospect of relief, the realization of his friendlessness and -degradation came over him, till not even sufficient spirit was left in -him to make his usual evasions. “Yes, I am Hugh Gwyeth,” he answered -simply; “I am the colonel’s son.” - -Then he felt the sharp sting of twigs across his face, as he pressed his -head upon his folded arms against the yielding hedge, and his breath -came stranglingly for a great lump that had gathered in his throat and -was near choking him. Ridydale was patting him on the shoulder, he knew, -and he heard him say: “Come, come, master, don’t go play the woman now. -’Tis all well, I tell you.” - -At that Hugh lifted his head from his arms. “Did my father send you to -seek me?” he asked, eagerly, as the griping feeling in his throat would -let him. - -Ridydale hesitated a moment. “I’ll wager he’ll be glad enough that I -have found you, sir,” he said at length. “For now, get you over to the -cottage where the light shows yonder and bide till I come.” - -“But Saxon’s horse,”—Hugh’s long drill in stable duty made him protest. - -“Hang the horse and Bob Saxon, too!” growled Ridydale, with an expletive -or so. “A pretty trade for your father’s son to turn a hand to!” - -Still muttering, he strode back to the stable, while Hugh obediently -made his way, by the hedge-gap and the well-trodden path, to the -farthest of the cluster of cottages that quartered the troop. By virtue -of his coming from Corporal Ridydale he was suffered to enter the -low-studded living room and sit down on a stool in the chimney corner. -It was a poor smoky room, but with the fire and candle it was warmer and -brighter than the stable, and there was a home-likeness about the -children sprawling on the hearth, the woman cooking pottage at the fire, -even about her stolid peasant husband, that made Hugh content to sit in -a kind of open-eyed drowse and watch them. In these hours of negative -comfort the whole burden of responsibility seemed slipped from him, and -he neither thought nor vexed himself with anticipation, only waited for -Ridydale. - -All save the cottager’s wife had packed to bed in the loft before the -corporal returned. Hugh heard him outside, rating some unknown trooper -with bullying volubility, and then he came in, grumbling about the -mismanagement of Hardwyn, who in his absence had got the men out of all -conceit of obedience. By the time they sat down to supper he had almost -calmed himself, however, and was kindly spoken to the woman who attended -them and brusquely civil to Hugh, who after his vagabond period felt ill -at ease, even at so poor a board. Ridydale noted all that, and -apparently he had made inquiries too, for when they were left alone at -table he spoke out, half angrily and half sorrowfully, “So you’ve been -drudging in the stables ever since that night, sir?” - -“There was nothing else to do,” Hugh answered, and took another piece of -bread, with a comfortable sense that he could have all he wanted. - -“’Twas hard to think at first it could be the colonel’s son,” Ridydale -went on, “though I was on the watch for you. I heard of that blockhead -Rodes,—he who bore the colonel’s torch that night—how you came unto him. -Rodes told it for a jest the colonel’s comrades would put upon him, but -I that had been with him nigh twenty years, I had a shrewd doubt there -might be some truth lay at the bottom of it. So I took it on myself to -make search, so soon as we returned to Shrewsbury. Lord save me, sir, -when I used to see you, there where we were in Lower Saxony, such a -well-favored little rascal, I never thought to come upon you currying -horses for your father’s men.” - -“You were in Germany?” Hugh asked. - -“Where the colonel has been I have been, these twenty years. I went as -his man when he first crossed to the Low Countries—a proper young -soldier he was! Then I was back with him in Warwickshire, seventeen -years agone; it seems longer.” - -“Then—you knew my mother?” Hugh asked, pushing aside his trencher. - -“Ay, Mistress Ruth Oldesworth, and a gallant-spirited young gentlewoman -she was. To leave her knave kinsfolk so, for love o’ the colonel! And -she was that kind spoken to all of us that followed him. Faith, a man -could nigh forgive her, even for deserting the colonel so.” Hugh broke -out. - -Hugh rumpled the hair back from his forehead, while he strove to grasp -the significance of this new information. He realized that these last -weeks there had been in his heart an unphrased feeling that his father -was cruel, and his mother must have suffered much, just as he was -suffering. Once he had held both parents something nobler than human -creatures; and latterly his mother had seemed more than ever a saint, -and his father an utter wretch; but now, what was he to think? Ridydale -spoke presently. Hugh replied, and snuffed the candle with his fingers a -moment, then broke out: Ridydale thoughtfully eyed the fire smouldering -on the hearth, and tousled his beard with one hand.he began at length. -“They were both very young and high-tempered, and he would have his -pleasure. He was stubborn, though I grudge to say it of him, and she was -not over-patient. There was words betwixt them, and that same day our -troop was sent foraying southward and he did not even take leave of her. -But he faced the troop about ere the sennight were over and brought us -home at a gallop. And when he came to quarters she had taken you and -gone for England. He never said word of it, even to me, save, ‘She might -ha’ left me the lad; he was as much mine as hers.’” - -“Then—he did have some care for me once?” Hugh asked; he was keeping his -face turned toward the fire, away from his companion. - -Hugh smiled at the fire, rather tremulously; it was dawning upon him -that Ridydale, for all his formal respect and kindness, was disappointed -that he did not bear out the promises of his babyhood, and he had a -doleful feeling that in the same way Colonel Gwyeth, too, would always -be disappointed in him. Ridydale began again, “and joined ourselves unto -King Gustavus. For the colonel would not make a start to follow his -lady; perhaps ’twas stubbornness, but he had no word of her since she -quitted Germany, and he was too proud to go a-begging to her, so we just -stayed on in the Swedish army. Once—’twas the year we fought at -Wolfenbüttel—there came a gentleman volunteer from England with tidings -out of Warwickshire, and so we learned that she was dead.” - -Hugh blinked at the fire and made no answer. Ridydale mused aloud. Then, -as Hugh still kept silent, Ridydale suggested they get to bed, and led -the way up the steep ladder to the loft. There were two pallets in -Ridydale’s rough chamber, and Hugh wondered impersonally, as he lay down -on one, what trooper the corporal had violently dispossessed of his -quarters to make room for him. At the foot of the pallet, in the sloping -roof, was a small window, through which Hugh found, after the candle was -out, he could see five bright stars and a patch of purple-black sky. He -lay staring at the stars and saw no meaning in them, for thinking busily -to himself and trying to comprehend that his parents had been neither -all good nor utterly depraved, but just frail everyday human creatures, -whom he must love and bear with for their humanness. - -Next morning he awoke of his own accord, without being kicked, and, -finding the room empty and a sunbeam coming through the little window, -rose up and went briskly below stairs. Late though he was, the woman -gave him all the breakfast he wanted, and then force of habit took him -over to the stable.Saxon greeted him, and the other men merely pestered -him with questions but gave him no blows. - -With a feeling that it was not yet time to proclaim his identity to all, -Hugh answered evasively, and then, because it was irksome to be idle, he -watered one of the horses, and, as Unger had bidden him the day before, -began patching up a headstall. He was sitting on a keg, fumbling with a -refractory buckle, when Ridydale bore down upon him with a fierce, -Arguing that if he were still a stable-boy Ridydale had the right to -command him, and if he were a gentleman Ridydale’s friendliness had -given him the right to make requests, Hugh laid aside the headstall and -went meekly back to the cottage, where till dinner time he lounged -ingloriously on the doorstone. After the noon meal Ridydale, very sullen -and wrathful, beckoned him outside and rated him, respectfully but -severely. “’Tis not becoming a gentleman like you to fetch and carry for -those dogs of troopers,” he explained. It was so ludicrously like the -view of what befitted a gentleman which up to a fortnight ago he himself -had held that Hugh could not help smiling. “Methinks ’tis not what a -gentleman does but how he does it makes the disgrace,” he said. - -Ridydale shook his head and looked dubious, then, coming apparently to a -better temper, changed the subject by offering to lend Hugh money with -which to buy fresh clothes. “The colonel will be here to-night,” he -concluded, “and I’ve a plan to wait a good-natured moment and tell him -of you. I’m thinking he’ll ask to see you, and you should not come -before him in such rags as these.” - -But Hugh had had enough of borrowing on the chance of Colonel Gwyeth’s -making repayment, and he refused the loan; if the colonel chose to -provide for him, he reasoned to himself, he need wear his rags but few -hours longer; and if the colonel rebuffed him again he would liefer have -rags than whole clothes and a debt to so short-pursed a man as a -corporal of carabineers. Ridydale fairly let slip his self-control at -the boy’s obstinate refusal. “If ’twere not for your red hair and your -trick of setting your lips together, I’d doubt if you were a Gwyeth,” he -broke out at last, and marched away to the stables in some temper. - -Whereat Hugh felt angry, then grew thoughtful, and, reflecting that the -man, for all his arbitrary ways, had treated him with real kindness, -wondered if he might not have somewhat tempered his refusal. So, when he -next saw Ridydale, at supper, he tried to talk him into good humor by -questioning him of his father, which much mollified the corporal, and -then of the troop, and finally of the progress of the war. It seemed -Colonel Gwyeth’s force had shared with Sir William Pleydall’s troop some -brisk skirmishing about Worcester; Hugh wondered if Frank had had the -good fortune to be present, and sought to get news of the Pleydalls from -Ridydale, who, when he learned Hugh had acquaintance with such -gentlemen, looked a trifle more favorably upon him. The boy was sorely -tempted to tell him the story of Dick Strangwayes and the skirmish at -the “Golden Ram,” but, after all, that was a kind of self-glorification -that would become Bob Saxon better than Hugh Gwyeth. So he held his -peace, and was thankful that he had got Ridydale into a mood where, if -he still esteemed him rather a weak-spirited fellow, he did not utterly -despise him. - -But early as next morning it was Hugh’s ill luck to destroy whatever -good impression he had made. Having risen late, he had fetched a bucket -of water up to the chamber, and, stripped to the waist, was bathing -himself with much splashing, when Ridydale unexpectedly came in. “The -colonel has granted to speak with me ere noon,” the corporal announced -his business at once, “so you shall speedily—” There he paused, looking -sharply at Hugh, who stood sidewise toward him, then strode over to the -boy. “How got you those fresh scars on your back?” he demanded. - -“No matter,” answered Hugh, facing hastily toward the speaker. - -Ridydale took him unceremoniously by the shoulders, and turned him -round. “’Twas done with a whip!” he burst out. “What means this? Have -you been flogged?” - -“Yes,” Hugh replied. “Now have the goodness to take your hands off me.” - -“Was it done here at the stables?” Ridydale persisted. “Answer me, -master.” - -“Do you look for me to turn tale-bearer?” Hugh retorted. - -“I look to cut some combs for this,” Ridydale stormed. “Though you lack -in spirit you bear your father’s name, and for that they that misuse you -shall answer—” - -“I pray you, let it all go,” Hugh interrupted. “I have suffered no -harm—” - -Ridydale stamped his foot down on the floor. “Harm, quotha! Why, you -might be a brat out of the kennel for all the shame you take from it. -Tell me, what can befall a man of gentle birth that’s worse harm than to -be banged by a pack of knaves?” - -Hugh busied himself in pulling on his shirt, and made no reply. - -“Well, ’tis time the colonel took you in hand,” Ridydale blustered. “You -need to be taught what befits a gentleman.” - -Then he went noisily out of the room, and Hugh heard him clatter down -the ladder from the loft. Looking out at the little window he saw -Ridydale head for the stables, and he hoped the man might not make -inquiries there or bring any one into disgrace for what had befallen. -Then, as he turned back to finish dressing, a new alarm seized Hugh: -what if the corporal, in his irritation, should refrain from speaking -for him to Colonel Gwyeth? But next moment he had quite accepted the -thought; indeed, he seemed all along to have half suspected some -miscarriage would destroy his faint hope of the last few hours. It would -only be of a piece with all that happened to him since he set out from -Everscombe. - -So, on the whole, he was surprised when about an hour later the -cottager’s wife knocked at his door with the news that a trooper was -below, come to take him before the colonel. No, he was not excited, Hugh -told himself, for he cared not what the issue might be; he had twice -gone so eagerly to meet his father, and each time been so bitterly -disappointed, that now, whatever good fortune might be before him, it -could awake in him no fresh anticipation. Yet, for all that, he came -down the ladder rather briskly, and, when he found himself actually -setting forth to Colonel Gwyeth’s quarters, felt a thrill of something -like apprehension. - -The bit of walk up the byway and along the main road to the great house, -the back of which Hugh knew so well from his stable days, ended all too -soon. Still repeating to himself that he did not care, he was not -frightened, Hugh followed the trooper through the doorway; and then the -door had closed, he was left alone in a dim back room, and suddenly he -realized that in sober truth he was near to trembling with nervous -dread. He was afraid of that flushed, red-haired man who had publicly -rejected him; he was afraid of his roughness and more afraid of his -tenderness, and if it had not been for shame at running away so -ignominiously he would have bolted out of the house. Since that was not -to be thought of he sat down on the window-seat and studied the dead -leaves and withered flower-stalks of a strip of garden outside. Then he -looked about the room and counted the oak panels in the walls and the -diamond panes in the windows, but after all his eyes strayed to the door -opposite, by which his guide had left him, and he found himself -listening to the subdued hum of men’s voices that sounded within. Once a -single voice rose choked and impatient, and immediately after feet -scurried down the passage outside the entrance door. Getting up, Hugh -tried hard to stare out at the window, but soon found himself facing the -door and listening. All within was quiet now; indeed, there was not a -sound nor a warning when at length the door was flung open and Ridydale -himself beckoned him to come in. “Don’t be afeard, sir,” he said under -his breath as Hugh passed him, and even in the midst of his own -agitation Hugh noted that the corporal’s face was anxious and his manner -subdued. - -“No prompting, Corporal Ridydale,” interrupted a stern voice that Hugh -remembered. “Come hither, sirrah.” - -Hugh halted where he was, a few paces from the door, and looked toward -the fireplace. Before the hearth Colonel Gwyeth was standing with his -hands behind him; the set of his lips could not be judged because of his -thick beard, but his brows were contracted so his eyes looked black -beneath them. “So this is my son,” he began more quietly. - -Hugh bowed his head without speaking; for the moment he dared not trust -his voice. - -“Come, come, hold up your head, man,” the colonel broke out impatiently; -and then, with a visible effort to maintain his quieter tone, “Why have -you not come to me ere this?” - -“I did not court a second rejection, sir,” Hugh answered, with a steady -voice, though his hands were crushing his cap into a little wad. - -“There was no need of a first rejection, as you call it. You could have -spared us both all this shame had you chosen a proper time and place to -seek me.” - -“I had come some miles and I was eager to see you,” Hugh answered -slowly. - -“Had they used you ill at Everscombe that you ran away?” the colonel -broke in. - -“N-no, sir,” Hugh must admit in simple justice. “My grandfather always -used me rather kindly.” - -“Gilbert Oldesworth?” Colonel Gwyeth turned impatiently from the -fireplace. “’Twas of him, I doubt not, you had your good Roundhead -doctrine.” - -“I—do not understand, sir.” - -“The doctrine of giving your cheek unto the smiter. That cut on your -face, now, was that, too, given you by one of my grooms?” - -Hugh felt the blood sting in his cheeks; he looked at his father but -made no answer. - -“Perchance, sir—” Ridydale ventured in a subdued voice. - -“Be quiet, John.—I have heard the whole history of your last fortnight, -Hugh Gwyeth, your honorable associates, your gentle bearing, all you -have done to uphold the credit of your house.” - -“On my soul, sir, you do the lad wrong,” Ridydale struck in rashly. -“Though his way be not your way, he is but young and—” - -“Hold your tongue, John Ridydale!” the colonel cried, banging his fist -down on the table beside him. “And for you, sirrah Hugh, if you have -aught to say for yourself, say it out now.” - -“I know not why I should defend myself, sir.” Now they would hark to him -at last, Hugh was amazed to find how hot and thick his words came. “I -know not what I have done shameful, unless it becomes a gentleman better -to starve than to work for his bread.” - -“You have only done this much, that you have bitterly disappointed me,” -Colonel Gwyeth answered sharply. “For my gallant young gentleman I had -thought on, those crop-eared kinsmen of mine have sent me a snivelling -young Roundhead—” - -“For my hair, that is not my fault,” Hugh blurted out, “and for -snivelling, you have no right to put that word to me. You may ask any -one—” - -Colonel Gwyeth swept back one arm with an impatient movement that sent -some loose papers from the table crackling to the floor. “Can you not -understand now what you have done?” he cried. “When you ran away from -your school you looked for me to make a soldier of you, did you not? -Tell me now, how can I set over my troopers a fellow their whips have -lashed?” - -For the moment Hugh found no words; the full significance of his -father’s speech, the totally new view of his weeks of discipline, -dismayed him beyond reply. With it all came a feeling that he was -bitterly sorry that the matter had gone amiss; in time he might have -come to like the red-haired man, who was disappointed in him, and the -red-haired man might have come to like him. Even yet it was possible he -might win the colonel’s favor, if he could show his mettle, if he were -only given a chance! Then he heard Ridydale venture, “An’t like you, -sir—” - -“Enough, Jack,” the colonel replied, with a poor assumption of a casual -tone. “I want you now to take Master Hugh here and get him fitting -clothes and a steady horse. By to-morrow night I shall have procured a -pass—” - -“What mean you to do with me?” Hugh cried out, making a step toward his -father. - -“I am going to despatch you back to your kinsfolk at Everscombe.” - -There was an instant of silence; then, “You hold me so mean-spirited a -fellow that you will not keep me with you?” Hugh asked slowly. - -“Your ways suit your Puritan kindred better than they suit me,” Gwyeth -answered, fumbling among the papers on the table. “’Tis too late now for -me to mend what they have marred. So I shall furnish you with a horse -and clothes—” - -“I did not come out of Warwickshire to beg a new coat and a nag of you.” -As he spoke, Hugh half turned away to the door and he perceived now that -Ridydale was violently signing to him to be quiet and stay where he was. -He did not heed, but, stepping to the door, laid his hand on the latch. -“And I shall not go back to Everscombe, sir,” he finished his speech -deliberately. - -“Tut, tut! You are too old for such childishness,” answered the colonel, -with exasperating contempt. - -“I will not go to Everscombe,” Hugh repeated. - -“Do you turn saucy, you young crop-head?” replied Colonel Gwyeth, -letting slip his assumption of calmness. “You will do as I bid you.” - -“You have no right to say ‘do this’ unto me,” Hugh flung back. “And I -want nothing of you,—nothing that you have offered me. I had rather get -my head broke in a troop stable twenty times over. But I’ll leave your -stable. And I’ll never trouble you more, sir, with coming unto you, -unless you choose to send for me again.” All this he said fast, but -without raising his voice, and throughout he kept his eyes fixed on the -colonel, who stood with his clinched hand resting on the table, and a -black look on his face. But Hugh gave him no time to answer, just said, -“Good morrow, sir,” with much dignity, set his cap on his head, and -walked out of the room. He took great pains to close the door carefully -behind him. - -Once outside upon the highway, he became aware that his face was burning -hot and every fibre of his body seemed braced as for actual battle. -Heading blindly toward Shrewsbury he tramped along fiercely, while he -went over and over the incidents of the last half-hour. If any man but -his own father had dared speak so contemptuously and so untruly of him! -No, if it had been another than his father, it would not have mattered. -But that Colonel Gwyeth, of all men, should hold him such a miserable -fellow, and give him no chance to prove himself better! - -Just then he heard behind him Ridydale’s voice: “Master Hugh! Stay a -moment, sir.” The corporal had plainly run from the house, but, so soon -as Hugh halted, he sobered his pace and came up at a more dignified -gait. “On my soul, sir, I meant not to put all awry,” he broke out at -once. - -“Did you bear the tale of that flogging unto him?” Hugh asked hotly. - -“Ay. But not as you think, sir, on my honor.” Ridydale strode at Hugh’s -side while he poured out the story: “I had taken me to the stables and -dragged the truth from the knaves there. Well, I’ll settle that score -with Jeff Hardwyn. I was hot with it all when I came to the colonel, and -he bespeaks me very careless and cool, if ’twas his son indeed, belike -in time, and so on. I might ha’ known ’twas but the way of him and he -would yet make it right, but I blurted out he’d best move quickly for -his son’s sake, not leave him to be buffeted by every cullion in his -stables. Well, he got the whole story of me then, sir, and off he goes -into one of his fine Gwyeth rages, and packs off Rodes after you, and -rates every one in the house on whom he can put hands until you come. -And I left him in such another rage. Why in Heaven’s name did you go -about to defy him so, sir?” - -“Because he drove me to it,” Hugh retorted, and pressed on with his face -set to the front. - -“Well, no one is driving you now that you keep such a pace. Whither are -you going, an’t like you?” - -“Shrewsbury. To seek in all the troop stables till I find those who will -employ me.” - -“Nay, nay, lad, come back with me, if you have it in heart to forgive -me. On my soul, I meant not so to dash your fortunes. By the Lord, I’ve -a liking for you, sir, in spite of your meek bearing. And I doubt not -your father would see there was some good in you, in time. Only come -back, and mayhap he—” - -“Before I’d beg of Colonel Gwyeth now, I’d go carry a musket for a -common foot soldier,” Hugh answered. - -“Well, you’ve not your father’s spirit,” Ridydale jerked out -impatiently. - -Hugh turned on him: “I trust I’ve not. I trust I’ll never live to cast -off a son of my own.” - -At that Ridydale stared blankly, then stopped short and burst out -laughing. “By the Lord, you are the colonel over again, sir, whether it -like you or not! My faith, and he does not realize it even now, no more -than I did. Why, there’s mettle in you, sir, after all. Now come back.” - -But Hugh very plainly showed his whole intent was turned to Shrewsbury, -so at length Ridydale abruptly yielded. “I’ll come along with you,” he -offered. “Very like I can find employment for you there, sir. If you -care to trust unto me—” - -“Ay, and I thank you too,” Hugh answered, touched for the moment, till -he remembered that Ridydale cared for him only as he would have cared -for a dog, had it borne the name of Gwyeth. - -After that they trudged on in silence, past the huddled, outlying -houses, through the west gate of Shrewsbury, and so into the crowd and -confusion of the garrison streets. It was somewhat past noon, Hugh -judged by the position of the sun, and then the sun was shut out, as -they turned into a narrow byway where the mud was deep in the shadow of -the tall houses. “This has not much the look of a troop stable,” Hugh -suggested, as Ridydale halted and knocked at the dark rear door of what -seemed a considerable mansion. - -But Ridydale was speaking a word aside to the serving man who opened, -and paid no heed. Presently he stepped in, bidding Hugh follow, and -then, leaving him alone in a dingy anteroom, he walked away with the -servant. Seating himself on a bench by the wall Hugh tried to run over -the morning’s events, and then to put them by and think only of what was -before him: stable-boy, trooper one day, perhaps. Only it was not a good -thing to hope forward to, so he drummed his finger-tips on the bench and -wondered why Ridydale delayed. - -Just then there came a quick, light step outside the inner door. “Where -is he?” a shrill voice cried. The door was kicked open, and there -plunged in headlong a slim figure in blue. “Hugh, you scoundrel! Where -have you been? Why did you not seek me out at first? Hang me if I be not -glad to see you, old lad.” - -“Frankie Pleydall!” was all Hugh could get out for the arms about his -neck that were near to strangling him. - - - - - CHAPTER IX - THE WAY TO WAR - - -“That was friendly conduct of you!” Frank Pleydall, having ended his -last hot tirade, suffered himself to fall back once more with his -shoulders against one arm of his big chair and his legs hanging over the -other. “I take it, had not that tall corporal of yours come hither and -opened up the matter to us, you’d have gone sweat in a stable, eh? On -your honor, Hugh, did you enjoy the life?” - -“Would you?” Hugh retorted, and then, as he looked at Frank’s curls and -fair skin, the impossibility of his going through such experience came -home to him. He shrugged his shoulders and, turning to the mirror, went -on dragging the comb through his rebellious hair, rather slowly, for to -be cleanly and freshly clad was an unwonted sensation, to enjoy which he -was willing to dally a trifle in dressing. From time to time he paused -to glance at Frank, who lounged and chatted, just as he had done in the -old days at school, or to look about the dark room, with great bed and -heavy furniture, that recalled to him his grandfather’s chamber at -Everscombe. After all, he still felt at home in well-ordered life; -“outcast” was not stamped upon him for all time. In Frank’s stockings -and shirt, which was rather scant for him, and a certain Cornet -Griffith’s gray breeches, and another officer’s half-worn shoes, swept -up in the general levy Frank had made on the nearest wardrobes, he -thought himself for a moment the same young gentleman who had left -Everscombe a month before. Then, chancing to meet the blue eyes that -looked back at him out of the mirror, he realized this was not the face -he used to know; this face was thin, so the jaws seemed squarer, and -there was a firmer set to the lips, and a new depth to the eyes. A -slight cut on one cheek and a bruise above one eye he noted, too, -without great resentment against those who had given them; such marks -would pass quickly, he knew, but the endurance and obedience he had -acquired with them would remain. - -“I should think it would pleasure you to study that well-favored face,” -Frank chuckled lazily. “When you’re done, sir, get on your coat, and -I’ll take you to my father.” - -Hugh pulled on Cornet Griffith’s gray jacket, which was somewhat too -large for him, and stood turning back the long sleeves. “What a tall -fellow you seem!” his comrade broke out, bringing his feet down to the -floor and sitting forward in his chair. “On my conscience, I could swear -you were more than six months elder than I.” - -“So could I,” Hugh answered thoughtfully. - -“Well, for all that you are not to treat me like a boy as the other men -do; you’re nothing but a lad yourself.” - -Hugh laughed, and put his hand down on Frank’s shoulder. “We’ll be good -comrades as we ever have been,” he said. “I shall never forget how -kindly you have used me this day.” - -“Oh, hang all that!” Frank put in hastily. “You’d do the like for me. -And ’tis pleasure for me to have you with me. You can share my -chamber,—there’s space enough for one to be lonesome,—and we’ll go to -the wars together, eh?” - -The realization of part of the boyish plan he had brought with him from -Everscombe pleased Hugh gravely, but he had been too often disappointed -to clutch eagerly at any hope, so he only said, “I’d like it right -well,—if your father wish me to stay.” - -“If I wish it, he will,” Frank answered confidently, and so they went -arm in arm down the stairs. - -Large as the house was, Sir William and the officers of his troop -contrived to fill it only too full, Hugh concluded, after Frank had -haled him, to his great embarrassment, into several rooms, and presented -him formally to all the men on whom he could lay hands. Of the number he -best remembered a dry-spoken Captain Turner, who told him, with an -implication that made Hugh’s face redden, that he ought in justice to -notify the rebels that he had joined the king. He remembered, too, a -long-legged Cornet Griffith, whose boyish face at sight of him took on -such a rueful look that Hugh suspected the loan of the gray clothes had -been a forced one. He ventured a private expostulation to Frank, who -merely laughed: “Oh, Ned Griffith is a cousin of mine, so he ought to be -glad to lend me his goods.—And here I have found my father out at last.” - -With that he dragged Hugh by the sleeve into a retired parlor, where Sir -William Pleydall, a stout florid man of near sixty, was sitting at a -table dictating to a secretary. “Here is Hugh Gwyeth, sir, of whom -Colonel Gwyeth’s corporal told you,” Frank announced. “You’ll entertain -him as a gentleman volunteer, will you not, sir?” - -“Will you be silent, Francis, till I have done with this piece of work?” -Sir William burst out. - -Frank knelt down on a chair with his elbows on the table and his chin in -his hands, so the candlelight fell across his girlishly fair face. “I am -right sorry, sir,” he began winningly, “I did not mark you were busied. -I had thought—you would gladly aid a friend of mine. Have I offended you -greatly, sir?” - -“No, Frank,” Sir William answered hastily, and, putting by the papers he -held, motioned Hugh to come over to him. “I remember you very well, -sir,” he began. “You were home with Frank one Michaelmas time. So you -ran away from that school? ’Twas very well done of you. That man Masham -is a cozening, foul-mouthed knave of a crop-headed Puritan.” Sir -William’s face flushed and Frank made haste to change the subject. “You -promised me Hugh should stay with me, sir, you’ll recollect.” - -“If he care to,” Sir William made answer. “You look sober enough, Master -Gwyeth, to keep my lad in proper behavior.” - -“I would gladly serve you, Sir William, in any way I could,” Hugh said -earnestly. “I think I could fight—” - -Sir William began laughing. “Call yourself a gentleman volunteer, if -’tis any satisfaction to you,” he said, and seemed about to end the -conversation; but, after a second glance at Hugh, asked abruptly in a -lower tone, “Between ourselves, sir, what vice was there in you -wherefore your father would not entertain you?” - -“I did not chance to please him,” Hugh answered. - -“But you are his only son, are you not?” asked Sir William, looking, not -at Hugh, but at Frank, who was still kneeling by the table. - -“Yes, Sir William,” Hugh replied, with his eyes suddenly lowered. - -The baronet was silent a moment, then, “Stay with us as long as you -please, my lad,” he said in a kinder tone than he had yet used, and with -that, abruptly taking up his papers, turned again to his secretary. - -Hugh came out in silence from the little parlor, and for a time, while -he enjoyed the realization that he had not lost a boy’s capacity for -feeling happy and hopeful, could make no reply to Frank’s brisk chatter. -But, before the evening was over, he made amends to Master Pleydall, -for, snugly settled in a window-seat with his friend, he recounted to -him not only the distinctions he hoped to win in the war, but all that -had befallen him in the last six months. Frank, hugging his knees in his -excitement, wished audibly he had been with Hugh to run away; two days -without food seemed so slight a thing when told. But Strangwayes’ share -in events surprised him enough to make him leave clasping his knees and -sit up straight: “Met my Cousin Dick? What good fortune for you! He used -to be a gay kindly fellow, the best liked of all my father’s nephews. -What manner of man is he grown now?” - -Hugh’s eager account made Frank look dubious. “Very like when he comes -again you’ll not wish to be my comrade any more,” he suggested -jealously. - -“You’re somewhat of a fool, Frank,” Hugh answered candidly. “Tell me -now, have you had news of Dick of late?” - -“Ay, he’s still with Butler’s troop; we only learned that on coming out -of Worcestershire two days back. He is but just recovered from his wound -and fever—” - -“Do you think, Frank,” Hugh interrupted, “to-morrow we might walk over -to the village and see him?” - -“I take it you’ll not,” Frank retorted. “Where have you kept yourself -from the news? To-morrow we march southward to flay the skin off that -old fox, the rebel Earl of Essex. We’ll make short work of him, and -then—” he trailed off into an exact exposition of the way the war would -go, which ended only at bedtime. - -Next day, as Frank had promised, in a keen, clear weather that made the -throngs of troop-horses prance and gave a vividness to every bright coat -and sword-hilt, the southward march began. Hugh, riding forth bravely -with Frank, Captain Turner, and others of Sir William’s officers, felt -he could have shouted for mere pleasure in the sight of the plunging -horses, the troops of men, and the throngs of friendly townsfolk that -lined the streets of Shrewsbury. In every fibre of him was a bracing -sensation, not only from the crisp air and the sunlight, but from the -mere feeling of the horse moving beneath him and the ordered motion all -about him of men and beasts. Now first it came over him that, even if he -might not serve with his father, he was glad that he was one of his -Majesty’s great marching army, bound to fight for the king. - -At the east gate, by which all must pass, horses and men were wedged -thickly, so presently Hugh found himself forced to one side of the -gateway, where his progress was checked. An ammunition wagon had broken -down and blocked the way ahead, the word ran through the crowd, whereat -some men swore, and others, laughing, took the delay merrily. While they -were waiting thus, an officer with one trooper attending rode headlong -into the thick of them and there stuck fast. “You’ll need slacken pace, -sir, you’ll find,” Turner called to him. - -“I’ve no wish to show my steed’s quality,” replied the other. “But I’d -fain be with a troop of mine that’s somewhere ahead on the road ’twixt -here and Staffordshire.” He impatiently thrust back the flapping brim of -his felt hat, and Hugh was made sure of what he had guessed by the -voice, that it was Colonel Gwyeth himself. - -At first he felt a kind of trembling, which was foolish, he told -himself; for he no longer feared the man. So he did not even try to urge -his horse forward, but suffered the beast to keep his stand, while he -gazed fixedly at the colonel. All through the press ran a swaying -motion, which soon forced Colonel Gwyeth, still in loud speech with -Turner, knee to knee with Hugh, and at the touch he faced toward him. -Hugh felt a thrill go through him, but he looked his father squarely in -the eyes and, lifting his hat a trifle, said, “Good morrow, sir.” - -“In the name of the fiend!” Gwyeth broke out; he had to turn in his -saddle to say it, for the movement in the throng had now brought him -level with the nose of Hugh’s horse. “Well, sir, you seem fully able to -fend for yourself.” - -So he was swept away, and next instant Ridydale following him was up -alongside. “’Tis all well, Master Hugh?” he asked in a low tone as he -brushed by. - -“Ay, thanks to you,” Hugh replied, and then Ridydale was forced away, so -he lost him in the ruck of horsemen. After that he gave heed only to -edging his own beast forward till they were out upon the highway, where -they found the road so nearly choked with the riders of their troop, -which they presently overtook, that a swift pace was still out of the -question. This was somewhat of a relief to Hugh, for the borrowed sorrel -which he bestrode was of no great speed, and made him think sadly of the -bay horse he had ridden on the headlong dash from the “Golden Ram.” -Frank, however, who was capitally mounted on his roan mare, The Jade, so -named for her wretched temper, lamented all the morning that he had not -space sufficient to show his steed’s fine paces. - -About noon, as they passed through the village where Hugh had met with -Butler’s troop, he coaxed Frank out of the ranks and, with an eager hope -of seeing Dick Strangwayes again, headed for the inn. But the place was -filled with thirsty troopers, so the tapsters were too busy to pay much -heed to the boys till Frank tried bribery. Then they learned that the -day before Butler’s dragoons had started southward to capture some arms -at a Puritan country-seat; and, though he looked scarce fit to ride, the -gentleman who had lain ill at the house had gone with them. “Well, -Cousin Dick must be a hardy fellow,” said Frank, as the two boys got to -horse again. “Though, to be sure, all the gentlemen of our family are.” -He flung out his chest as full as possible while he spoke, and presently -got his hat tilted over one ear at a swaggering angle. - -Thus the march went on, by south and east, over ground Hugh had already -once ridden at a time that now seemed immeasurable years behind him. He -had let his life at Shrewsbury and his father’s rejection of him slip -backward in his memory, till now he found himself living heartily in the -present. Existence meant not to worry at what was past, but to sleep in -an inn bed or on a cottage floor, whatever quarters fell to the troop, -to eat what fare Sir William’s officers could procure, and through all, -wet or dry, to ride on whither the king led. - -Very early in the march they entered the hamlet of the “Golden Ram,” -where Hugh, as he held it to be his duty, sought out Sir William and -laid before him the story of Emry’s treachery. The baronet, after some -moments of explosive swearing, sent men to apprehend the fellow, and -bade Hugh go to guide them. But when they came to the inn they found -that at their approach Constant-In-Business Emry had discreetly removed, -and there was left only the red-cheeked maid with the black eyes, who -joked and flirted with the troopers while she drew them ale. At first -she did not recognize Hugh, and, when she did, seemed to take little -interest in him; but, as the men tramped out, she ran after him, and -catching his arm asked him in a whisper how the dark gentleman fared, -and if he had been hurt in the scuffle. The news of Dick’s illness made -her half sniffle, which touched Hugh so that, having no money to give -her, he tried his friend’s tactics and kissed her. Whereat the wench, -after a feint at boxing his ears, darted back to the door of the common -room, where she paused, laughing shrilly. “Ride away, my lad,” she -called after him. “It takes more than jack-boots and spurs to make a -man.” - -Hugh went back to his horse in some mortification; it might be well -enough for Dick Strangwayes to be on good terms with all women, but he -had no will to meddle farther in such matters. - -Yet, scarcely a week later, he found himself seated at a table in a -stuffy chamber, trying by the flicker of a guttering candle to blot out -a letter to a girl. For the army was now among the Warwickshire fields, -and the sight of home country brought back to Hugh’s thoughts Everscombe -and the good friend he had left there. So, while Frank jeered from the -bed about his sweetheart, and urged him to put out the candle and lie -down, Hugh, sitting in his shirt-sleeves, painfully scrawled some -ill-spelt lines to Lois Campion. Much had happened that would only make -her miserable to know, so he spoke little of his father, only told her -he was well and happy, and, as Colonel Gwyeth could offer him no place -in his troop, was serving with Sir William Pleydall. He sent his duty to -his grandfather, too, and his obedient faithful services to her. - -Just there Frank sat up in bed, and, throwing a boot at the candle, -contrived to overturn the ink-bottle. Shutting his lips, Hugh mopped up -the stuff, then, still without speaking, began to undress. “Now you’ve -lost your temper, Master Roundhead,” Frank teased; but Hugh held his -tongue till he had blown out the candle and stretched himself in the -bed, then said only, “Good night.” - -He was almost asleep when Frank began shaking him. “Hugh, prithee, good -Hugh,” he coaxed, “are you truly angry? Pray you, forgive me, Hugh.” - -“Don’t I always?” Hugh answered, half waked. “Go to sleep, Frank.” - -So they began next morning on as good terms as ever, and before night -had barely avoided two of those quarrels which Frank made a daily -incident to friendship. But by the following sunrise even Frank was too -busied with other matters for such diversion. “The rumor’s abroad that -we’re to bang old Essex soon,” he broke out, as he and Hugh rode a -little before Sir William’s troop along the stony Warwickshire road. - -“We’ve been going to ever since we left Shrewsbury,” Hugh replied. “I -hope—Perhaps if I did somewhat in battle some one would bestow a -commission on me; I’d like not to tax your hospitality longer.” Then he -repented of the last as an ungracious speech. - -But Frank, without heeding, ran on: “I hope I shall get a share in this -work, and I will, if I lose my head for it. You’ll understand, Hugh, my -father let me have no share in the fighting in Worcestershire; they left -me at home when they went out to Powick Bridge. On my honor, Hugh, I -wish sometimes one or two of my sisters had been boys. ’Tis a fine -thing, no doubt, to be sole heir to a great property, but a man would -like a little liberty now and again, not to be ever kept close and out -of harm like a girl. Now I’ll lay you any amount of money my father will -strive to keep me from this battle.” - -Hugh did not look properly sympathetic, so Frank added pettishly: “And -he’ll rate you no higher than me, so if you are to have a hand in the -fighting and get you a commission, you must look to yourself.” - -None the less Hugh cherished a suspicion that if a battle took place -under his very nose he would be aware of it, and in that hope he went -trustingly to sleep next night. Sir William’s troop was quartered about -a small manor house, some three miles to the west of Edgcott, where the -king lay. Hugh noted the place merely as one that gave comfortable -harborage, for he and Frank were assigned a chamber to themselves, where -they went promptly and wearily to bed. But barely asleep, as it seemed, -a troublesome dream disturbed Hugh; he thought himself back in the -Shrewsbury stables, where the horses had all turned restless and stamped -unceasingly in their stalls. Then of a sudden he sat up in bed, broad -awake, just in time to see the door kicked open, and Griffith, with his -coat in one hand and a candle in the other, stumble in. “Up with you, -youngsters!” he cried. “Essex is coming.” - -“Essex?” Frank whimpered sleepily. “We’ll kill him.” - -“Leave us the candle, Cornet Griffith,” Hugh cried, springing up and -beginning to fling on his clothes. “How near are the enemy?” His teeth -were chattering with the cold of the room and a nervous something that -made his fingers shake. - -“The Lord knows!” Griffith replied, struggling into his coat. “The word -to get under arms has but just come.” - -“Where is my other stocking?” Frank put in piteously from his side of -the bed. “Hugh, have you seen it?” - -“Stockings!” the cornet ejaculated. “There’s a fellow would wait for -lace cuffs ere he went to fight.” - -Thus warned, Hugh put his bare feet into his riding-boots, and, -fastening his jacket without the formality of donning a shirt, ran for -the door at Griffith’s heels. Frank, after an unheeded entreaty to wait -for him, tumbled into his shirt and breeches, and came headlong after -out into the corridor. - -Below in the great hall, under the dim light of candles, men were -jostling and shouting and pulling on coats and buckling sword-belts, as -they passed hurriedly out by the black open door. Running blindly after -the crowd, Hugh collided by the entrance with Captain Turner, who came -in jauntily, albeit he was in his shirt-sleeves. “How near are the -enemy, Captain?” Hugh cried, catching him by the arm. - -Turner looked down at him with a dry smile. “Not so near, Gwyeth, but -you’ll have time to wash your face ere they come up.” - -Even the mocking tone could not recall Hugh to his self-composure, but -he ran on out of the house, where he was jostled by troopers and nearly -trampled on by horses that were being led up. Getting out of harm’s way -at last in an angle of the front of the house, he became aware that the -stars were few in the sky and on the horizon a light streak showed; it -must be nearing dawn. Just then he heard the deadened sound of a horse’s -being rapidly ridden over turf, and then a strange officer came -galloping up to the very door. Running thither, Hugh saw him disappear -into an inner room, whence a little later Sir William Pleydall, a bit -excited but carefully accoutred, came forth with the announcement that -the enemy were near by at Kineton, and the troop was to hold itself in -readiness to march to meet them. - -There was sufficient time to follow Captain Turner’s advice, so Hugh and -Frank went back to their chamber and, while their candle paled in the -daybreak, dressed methodically. Hugh turned up his boot-tops and -fastened his buff coat up to his chin, telling himself he should be too -grateful to Sir William for such a stout jacket to envy Frank his -cuirass, then, while his companion was tugging a comb through his curly -hair, sat down on the window-seat to wait. The manor house looked out -across a valley toward the east, where a light rift in the dun clouds -showed till presently the sun broke through, and turned the mist in the -lowlands to silver. “It will be a fair day,” Hugh said, half aloud; -“’tis a Sunday, too, is it not?” - -“Yes,” sneered Frank. “How can so godly a man as Essex fight of a -Sabbath?” Then he broke off speech for the serious business of strapping -on his sword, which was long enough to threaten to trip him up. Hugh -looked on rather enviously, for no one had yet offered him a sword, and, -as he felt he should not ask for one, he had to content himself with -sticking in his belt a spare pistol Captain Turner had lent him. - -When the two young soldiers came downstairs they found the candles were -long since out and gray daylight was glimmering through the hall. There -tables were spread, about which the officers of the troop, all equipped, -sat or stood while they ate; and, as they had good appetites, Hugh, -though he was not over-hungry, felt obliged to take bread and meat and -try to make a hearty meal. All about him was talk of nothing but the -battle, the numbers the Earl of Essex had in his army, the numbers the -king could put against him, and the surety of a mighty victory. “Do not -you be all so certain,” croaked Turner, who had seated himself to make a -comfortable meal. The others hooted him down, so he changed the subject -by chaffing Frank on his prodigiously long sword. The boy retorted -saucily enough to make those about him laugh; indeed, for the most part, -all were gay now daylight had come and the work before them was clear to -see. There were wagers laid on the length of the battle, promises of -high revelry on the spoils of the enemy, and above all calls for wine. -When the glasses were filled, Sir William, rising at the head of the -table, gave the king’s health. Hugh remembered afterward the instant’s -tense hush that came in the talk and loud laughter, then the sudden -uproar of fists smiting on the table, boot-heels stamping on the floor, -and through and above all cheers and cheers that made the high-roofed -hall reëcho. Then, as the tumult died down, the major, Bludsworth, -cried: “Now, then, lads: To the devil with the Parliament and Essex!” - -After that was shouting that made the lungs ache, and glasses shattered -on the floor, then, as the storm of curses and calls abated, one of the -officers struck up a song against the Parliament, and some joined in, -some laughed, and others still cried, “Down with the Parliament!” - -Just then a messenger, pushing in, spoke a word to Sir William, who gave -orders for the troop to prepare itself to march, for the main guard -would soon be under way. - -“Mayhap we can get sight of something from the hill here,” Frank cried. -“Come out, Hugh, and see.” - -Running out into the cold of the nipping morning air they set their -faces to the steep pitch of hillside behind the manor house. The turf -was stiff with frost, so climbing was easy, and in a short space they -were at the summit. Instinctively they turned their first glance to the -west where the enemy lay. “But ’tis useless gazing,” Frank said, next -moment, “for ’twixt here and Kineton rises a piece of high land; they -call it Edgehill. Face back to the east, Hugh. Look, look, ’tis the -vanguard!” - -Winding down the opposite slope they could now distinguish a long line -of moving figures, horsemen upon horsemen, with the sunlight glittering -ever the stronger on their cuirasses and helmets. Moment after moment -the boys delayed there, till the foremost of the riders toiled up a -lower ridge of the hill, not an eighth of a mile distant from them. The -hum of the moving files reached them; almost they thought to distinguish -the devices of the fluttering banners. “But the king’s standard will -come only with the Life Guards and the foot,” Frank explained. “This -evening ’twill be waving over all England. God and our right! God and -King Charles!” - -“Yonder below marches a black cornet,” Hugh broke in. “See you, Frank? -My father’s troop goes under such a banner.” - -“Say we draw down nearer to them,” the other cried, and started to -descend the hill. - -“Stay, Frank,” Hugh called, “it must be mid-morning. I think we were -best get back to our troop.” - -“Name of Heaven! I had near forgot,” Frank replied, and, facing about, -started back to the manor house at full speed. - -Hugh followed after, slipping upon the steep hillside, and so they came -down behind the stables, where after the tumult of the earlier morning -was a surprising quiet. “Some must have set out already,” Frank panted, -as he headed for the house. - -“I’ll fetch our horses,” Hugh shouted after him, and ran to the stable. -Within he saw The Jade and the sorrel had already been led forth, and in -their places, all a-lather and with drooping heads, stood the black and -bay captured from the Oldesworths. “When were they put here?” Hugh cried -to the hostler, and, without waiting for an answer, ran for the house; -if the horses were there, Dick Strangwayes must be close at hand. - -But when he came to the house he found neither horse nor man, only off -to the right the last of Sir William’s troop were pacing round a spur of -the hill, and on the doorstone stood Frank with his hands tight -clinched. “Hugh, they’ve taken our horses!” he cried shrilly. - -“Have you seen anything of Dick?” Hugh asked in his turn. - -“And Bludsworth,—the fiend come and fetch him!—he answered me: ‘The men -that can strike the stoutest blows for the king must have the horses -to-day.’” Frank plunged a step or two across the trampled turf, as if he -had a mind to run after the troop. “He’d not a dared use me so, if he -knew not my father would approve. I told you they’d cheat us of the -battle. Never mind, I would not fight for them if I could.” - -As Frank’s voice trailed off into inarticulate mutterings Hugh found -opportunity to question: “Has Dick been here? Tell me.” - -“Ay, ’twas he and another from Butler’s troop. Had spurred night and -day. Their horses were spent. And Dick Strangwayes has taken my Jade. -Plague on him! He’s too heavy for her; he’ll break her legs. My Jade—” - -“He has gone into the battle and I did not see him,” Hugh broke out. “He -may be hurt again.” - -“I care not if he be,” Frank cried, “so he bring her back safe. She was -the prettiest bit of horseflesh! And I was going to ride her in the -battle.—Did I not tell you they’d not let us come? And no doubt they’ll -beat the rebels and ’tis the last encounter and I shall not be there. -And she was my horse, and she loved me; she almost never kicked at me.” -Frank’s shrill voice broke suddenly. “Oh, hang it all!” he cried, and, -dropping down on the doorstone with his head on the threshold, began -sobbing piteously and choking out more oaths till his voice was lost for -weeping. - -Hugh forgot his own bitter disappointment at not seeing Dick and having -no chance to earn a commission in the battle, in his first alarm for -Frank. Then alarm gave place to something akin to disgust at the boy’s -childishness, and he half started to walk away, but he turned back. -After all, Frank was younger than he, and he ought to be patient with -the lad, just as Dick Strangwayes had been patient with him. So he stood -over Frank and tried to joke him into being quiet. - -“But ’twas my horse,” the boy sobbed, “and there’ll never be another -battle, and I had no part in the last.” - -“Well, it does not befit your cuirass to cry like that,” Hugh answered; -and then, “Look you here, Frank, ’tis not above six miles to Kineton and -we’ve good legs to carry us. Why should we not have a hand in the -fighting even now?” - - - - - CHAPTER X - IN THE TRAIL OF THE BATTLE - - -It was long past the noon hour, as the westward bent of the sun showed, -when the two boys panted up the northern pitch of the rough Edgehill. -From the manor house to the field they had come at their best pace, -running at first even up the hillsides, till sheer lack of breath made -them somewhat moderate their speed. A couple of miles out from the -house, as they headed aimlessly, with only a vague notion that somewhere -to the west the battle would be joined, they came up with a body of foot -alongside which they marched clear to the southern verge of the hill. -Coming thither, they at last heard the rumor that, while the foot would -be massed in the centre for the fight, the Prince with the mounted men, -among whom served Sir William’s troop, would hold the right wing. -Thereupon they forsook the foot soldiers and, heading to the northward, -plunged down a steep pitch and across an open bit of ground, where they -got entangled in a body of pikemen and were nearly ridden down by some -straggling dragoons, and so came breathless up the last hillside. There -upon the high ridge, whence for miles they could see the low country -spreading away toward Kineton and right beneath them the mustering -squadrons, they made a moment’s halt. - -“Below here to the right our men are,” Frank gasped, without breath -enough to shout. “If I only had The Jade.” - -“’Twill be the enemy far over yonder in the plain, where I can just make -out black things to move,” said Hugh. “There look to be a many of them.” - -“There’ll be fewer ere night,” Frank replied. - -“Sure, we’ll scarce give battle so late in the day?” - -“There’s time enough ’twixt now and sundown to trounce them roundly,” -Frank answered cheerfully. “Come, let us go down and seek our people.” - -They had gone barely a rod along the brow of the hill, when right behind -them, deadened till now by the yielding turf, sounded the galloping of a -horse. Glancing over his shoulder, Hugh got sight of a rider spurring in -their steps with no evident intention of swerving, so he caught Frank by -the arm and jerked him to one side, none too soon, for the horse’s nose -almost grazed the boy’s shoulder. “Look how you ride!” Hugh shouted -angrily. The horseman never deigned to look at him, but, with his dark -face set to the front and the ends of his scarlet sash fluttering, shot -by and disappeared down the hillside. - -“Curse him!” Frank sputtered, “’twas a coward’s trick; ’twas like him.” - -“Like who?” - -“’Tis Philip Bellasis, a son of my Lord Bellasis. I pray his comb be cut -some fine morning.” - -“The Lord Bellasis who is of the king’s council?” Hugh asked, as they -tramped along the hilltop, with ears alert now for more reckless riders -behind them. - -“Ay, a scurvy civilian,” Frank said, with extra swagger; “we of the army -have no love for them nor they for us. Why, his influence came near -losing my father his independent command. He would have lumped us in -with my Lord Carnavon’s horse. Well, we’ll show to-day who’ll save the -kingdom, meddling lawyers like Bellasis or soldiers like ourselves.” - -Then conversation ceased, for reaching a gully in the hillside they gave -all their thoughts to descending it, and slipped and scuffled in the dry -bed till Frank had wrenched his ankle and Hugh had a torn coat-sleeve to -his credit. The gully ending in a small stream, they followed it down -through a copse of bare bushes that snapped against the face, and so -came out upon the open plain. Not an eighth of a mile distant, sitting -ready with their backpieces gleaming and their carabines slung across -their shoulders, they could see the ranks of horsemen. In the open -betwixt the boys and the ordered troops messengers were spurring to and -fro, and now and again, in small groups or man by man, stray horsemen -straggled by. One such they came upon by the brook, as he was patching a -broken girth, and Hugh, pausing to lend his aid, asked him what news -there was in the field. “Why does not the battle begin at once?” Frank -urged, and, when the man answered the troops were but waiting the word -to fall on, he caught Hugh’s arm and bade him come forward quickly to -seek their regiment. - -At that the trooper struck in: “Best keep out o’ the press, sir. You’ll -be trampled to pieces there with small good to the king or to yourself. -Better bear off to the northward out of harm’s way.” - -“But I am here solely to get in harm’s way,” Frank protested; and, when -Hugh, taking the advice, made for a log bridge to cross the stream, -followed grumblingly. - -Once over, with the intention of taking their final stand at the extreme -right of the line of waiting horsemen, they pressed northward across the -uneven plain. They were sliding down the bank to a shallow hollow, when -the thud, thud of hoofs warned them to look to the westward and there, -over a slight rise in the ground, a belated troop came at a smart trot. -Pressing back against the bank Hugh watched the crowded columns -approach, the bespattered breasts of the horses, their tossing heads, -and above the waving manes the white faces of the riders. As the head of -the column came close upon him his eyes rested on its leader, and he saw -he was a man of middle height with reddish hair, who rode in his shirt -with neither cuirass nor helmet. Then the troop was sweeping past, -black, red, and gray horses straining at a trot, and men with steady -faces and silent lips, among whom, looking closer, Hugh recognized some -he knew. - -But he only gazed without speaking till the last horse had swung down -the hollow, and Frank, who had been cheering mightily, settled his hat -on his head again, with an excited, “A brave troop, was it not, Hugh?” - -“It was my troop,” Hugh answered. “Did you not note? ’Twas my father led -them.” - -“Oh, ay, to be sure,” replied Frank, making for the opposite side of the -hollow. “I scarce remembered him, and, to my thinking, he has used you -so knavishly that he does not merit to dwell in any gentleman’s -remembrance, and—Hark, there!” - -Both halted a moment as from far off on the left came the dull boom, -boom of cannon. From far to the front an answering crash sounded. -“They’re falling to it,” Frank cried. “Briskly, Hugh!” - -One last spurt that sent the blood beating to the temples and turned the -breath hot in the throat, and they were stumbling up the little hillock -for which they had headed. Still, before and on the left, the cannon -were pounding, and there came, too, in long, undistinguishable shouts, -the noise of men cheering. The withered grass of the hillside wavered -before Hugh’s eyes with the very weariness of running, yet he found -strength in him to pull off his hat and breath to pant out: “For a -king!” - -Then, coming over the brow of the hill, he had sight of the rough plain -stretching off to the gray west, and across it saw the long ranks of -horsemen sweeping forward. A gleam of cuirasses and helmets, a glimpse -of plunging horses and waving swords, a flutter of banners; they had -charged onward, and only the echo of their shouts still lingered and was -lost in the throb of cannon. Now first Hugh realized his throat was near -cracked with cheering and his arm ached with waving his hat; so he -paused breathless, with his eyes still fastened on the brown dust-cloud -toward the west. There came a touch on his arm, and putting out his hand -he grasped Frank’s wrist. Young Pleydall was gasping for breath with a -choke like a half sob. “If we had only been with them!” he broke out. - -“My father is there,” Hugh said, half aloud. He did not tell Frank what -he was thinking: that, after all, he would rather have a father who, -even if he did despise and reject his son, was striking good blows over -yonder, than an indulgent parent like Master Nathaniel Oldesworth, who -could bear to sit idle at home. - -“What if your father is there?” Frank panted in retort. “It does not -better matters for us. They’re hard at it. Listen to the muskets yonder. -Come, let us go thither.” - -Hugh gave one glance to the west, where even the dust-cloud had faded in -the distance, and to the south, where a slight swelling of the plain hid -the sight of conflict; it was from there the tantalizing noise of firing -came. “’Tis not in human endurance to stay here and not know how the day -is going,” he burst out, and led the way down into the plain. They -struck toward the brook they had crossed, and followed its course -northwestward, almost in the track the Royalist horse had taken. - -“They’ve all passed out of sight,” Frank said as he pressed forward, -half on the run. “They must have driven the rebels clean into Kineton.” - -“Hark to the southward!” Hugh answered. - -“They will only be shooting down stragglers,” Frank replied confidently. -“The day’s ours. No living thing could stand up against such a charge. -Was it not brave? I tell you, Hugh, war is the grandest—” - -There the words died away on Frank’s lips, as a few paces before them -near the brookside he caught sight of a dark, motionless thing. “’Tis -not—” he faltered, and made a movement as if he had half a mind to fetch -a circuit about the place. - -“Come along,” Hugh said firmly, though he felt the heart contract within -him. “If he be alive, we must help him.” Walking forward deliberately, -he halted a step from the object,—a common trooper, he now saw, and by -his colors one of the king’s men. He lay on his back with his hands -clinched above his head, and the blood bubbling out through a bullet -wound in his throat, but he still breathed in short, rattling gasps. -Perceiving that, Hugh ran to the margin of the brook, and, dipping his -hat full of water, splashed it over the man’s face; he remembered -afterward what a dull, dogged face it was under the pain that was -distorting the brows and lips. He raised the man’s head up against his -arm. “Fetch more water, Frank,” he bade; then, as the boy turned, it -seemed something caught and clicked in the trooper’s throat, and his -head slipped down from Hugh’s arm. Hugh suffered him to sink to the -ground, and was kneeling beside him, half dazed with the awesomeness of -what had happened, when Frank came stumbling back. “What!” the younger -lad cried; “is he—” - -“He is gone,” Hugh answered simply. He got up, and walking to the brook -lay down on the brink and drank; the chill of the soggy turf beneath him -and the cold water he gulped down seemed to wash away something of the -horror he had just seen. He rose fairly steadied. “Shall we go forward, -Frank?” he asked. “There’ll be more such to see.” - -“Yes, let us,” Frank said, rather subdued, and so, passing the body of -the trooper, they went on down the brook. - -The farther they advanced, the more ill sights there were to see: horses -that lay dead or sprawled with disabling wounds yet struggled to rise, -men with gashed bodies or blackened faces, who were beyond aid, and -others, bleeding with wounds, who had crawled to their feet and were -heading for the rear. One horse, a roan, Frank persuaded Hugh, for The -Jade’s sake, to shoot with his pistol; but after that Hugh, sparing his -scant supply of ammunition, refused to carry on such work. But they -tried to aid the wounded men, who came ever more frequently, and with -them one or two of another sort, unhurt but riding too hastily to pause -to speak. “The cowardly knaves!” Frank cried. “If I find one of our -troop turning tail so, hang me if I do not recommend him for a -flogging.” - -But just then there came a white-faced horseman, who, reining up at -their call, gladly gave them what tidings he could, which were vague -enough, only the king’s men had swept the rebel horse from off the -earth, and chased the rest of the army away, and there had been great -fighting, and a scurvy Roundhead bullet had broke his leg. Would one of -the young gentlemen reach him a drink of water? He could not dismount. -Hugh filled the man’s steel cap at the brook, and then he rode slowly -away. - -Farther on, where the conflict had been hotter, they passed more bodies, -and just the other side of the brook, which they leaped at a narrow -turn, came upon one lying face down whose long hair gave him to be a -gentleman. Hugh had bent to see if by any chance he still lived, when -Frank thrust by him. “Do you not know that head-piece with a nick in -it?” he cried. “’Tis Ned Griffith.” - -At that they had him over on his back and found he was breathing, in -spite of a great gash in his shoulder that had sheered through the -cuirass. Tearing off his armor, they splashed water over him till the -young fellow revived enough to blink his eyes open, groan, and shut them -again. “Live?” said Frank, pouring another capful of water over him. “Do -you think a man will die who can fetch a groan like that?” - -Griffith’s eyes slowly opened again. “You youngsters?” he asked feebly. -“Was it the whole troop rode over me?” - -Hugh laid open his coat, and, with a certain grim thankfulness that what -he had unwillingly seen now enabled him without physical shrinking to -help a friend, bandaged his hurt. “We must carry him to the rear,” he -finally ordered Frank. “You take his legs, and I’ll manage his head.” - -They lifted up Ned Griffith, who hung limp and heavy in their hands, and -set their faces toward the dark hill whence the king’s army had charged -forth. The walk out into the field had gone briskly enough, but there -seemed no end to the return journey. Again and again they had to lay the -injured man down while they recovered breath; but though wounded -stragglers passed them, they saw none who could aid them, so of -necessity they lifted up their burden once more and struggled on. -Sometimes Frank panted out a grumbling complaint, but Hugh made no -reply, for his eyes were on the wounded man’s white face and parted -lips, and he found himself wondering how his father was faring in the -battle, and what might have befallen Dick Strangwayes. - -Of a sudden Frank, letting Griffith’s boots come to the ground abruptly, -began shouting with all his strength to a brace of loiterers. “Men of -our troop,” he explained to Hugh, “and not much wounded, Heaven be -thanked for’t! They can convey Ned to a surgeon, if such a one is in the -field, and we’ll back to see more.” - -Relinquishing their charge on such terms, they set their faces again to -the field of battle. It was now drawing toward sundown, and the fire to -the south had slackened. “Mark my words, the war is ended,” Frank -lamented; “and we have had no part in it, only to tramp about and look -on those others have killed.” - -Hugh must acknowledge to himself it had been a grim afternoon’s work, so -with some hope of brisker adventures he followed willingly, as his -companion headed southerly toward the clearer line of a road. “Maybe -we’ll find our troop if we walk toward Kineton,” Frank suggested. “And -we could ride back with them.” - -“Yes, they should have taken some horses from the rebels by this,” Hugh -replied, with a nod toward a corpse with an orange sash that lay on the -edge of the roadway. He stubbornly told himself it was only another -monument to the Royalist fighting quality, and tried to believe he had -nearly deadened sympathy in him and calloused his senses to the horror -of what he must endure if he would follow this life he had chosen. - -They faced westward and tramped along the road, but what with ruts and -mire it proved heavier walking than the fields. “Faith, I’m weary of -this,” Frank grumbled. “How much farther to Kineton?” - -“Let’s bear off on the other side,” suggested Hugh, peering through the -gathering twilight. “Yonder’s a bit of a hollow and it may be easier -going.” - -They crossed a piece of open level, and, holding this the quickest way, -jumped down the slight pitch at its farther edge. As they recovered -footing, they perceived close before them in the lee of the bank two -bodies lying motionless, one of which seemed that of an officer by its -better clothes and of a rebel by its orange sash. It was the first -officer of Essex’s army they had yet noted among the dead, and, with a -sudden fear that it might be one of his own kindred, Hugh bent over the -corpse. Finding, to his relief, that the face was strange to him, he was -turning away, when his eyes chanced to rest upon the other body, that of -a hulking common foot soldier. As he gazed he thought to see a slight -tremor pass over it, so, stepping to the man as he lay on his face, he -shook him by the shoulder. - -At the touch the fellow suddenly scrambled to his knees. “Don’t kill me, -master,” he whined. “Give me quarter.” - -Hugh had started back a step or two and pulled out his pistol; the man -was not even scratched, he perceived, but had feigned dead. Then he -noted a basket-hilted sword with a leathern baldric that had been -concealed beneath him as he lay, and he noted, too, that not only did -the dead officer wear no sword, but his pockets had been turned inside -out. “So that’s your trade, is it?” Hugh cried. “Robbing the dead of -your own party, eh?” - -“I’ll never do so no more,” whimpered the fellow. “Don’t ’ee shoot.” - -The craven tone of the creature harked back to something in Hugh’s -memory; he leaned a little forward and studied the man’s bearded, -low-browed face, then drew back with his pistol cocked. “I remember -you,” he said. “Are you ready to pay back the two shillings and sixpence -you took from me on the Nottinghamshire crossroad?” - -“Is this the padder?” Frank struck in. “Put a bullet through him, Hugh.” - -“Don’t ’ee shoot me, master,” the other begged. “I did not kill ’ee -then, and I might ha’.” - -“I am not going to shoot you,” Hugh replied, “but you can give me over -that sword to pay for what you owe me. And remember, this pistol I hold -now is in good order,” he added, for he half suspected the fellow was -plucking up courage as he discovered it was only two lads, not a whole -troop, had come upon him. So he stood back warily out of the plunderer’s -reach, while Frank, who was viewing the whole proceeding happily like a -holiday sport, took up the booty and passed it over to him. Hugh -gathered the baldric about the sword in his left hand, a little -hurriedly, for it was beginning to dawn on him that he and Frank had -strayed pretty far, and where one live rebel was there might be others. -Just then, over in the plain, he got sight of a straggling horseman or -two, so he turned upon Frank with a quick order: “Clamber up the slope -there and make for the road briskly.” - -He heard behind him the boy’s quick retreating step, but his eyes were -still fixed on the scowling rebel, whom he thought well to cover with -his pistol. “Sit where you are,” he commanded the man, “and offer to -play me no slippery tricks if you value your skin.” Thus speaking, he -backed toward the bank, which he ascended slantingly, so as to keep an -eye on the fellow. But, chancing to look beyond him, he saw one of the -horsemen was already heading in his direction, so he turned and fair ran -for the roadway, where Frank was halting for him. “Run,” he called to -the boy; “’tis a hornets’ nest here.” - -Without staying for farther questions, Frank took to his heels down the -road toward Kineton, and Hugh, after one glance to the right where he -saw no stragglers of his own party, ran after him. At each stride he -gained on him, for Frank’s boots and cuirass encumbered the youngster; -capture was possible, it flashed through Hugh’s head, and with it came -the reflection that it would be discreditable to be taken in the act of -plundering a private of foot, for others might not see the justice of -the case as clearly as he had seen it. Then he found wit to think only -of the hoof-beats that were now sounding on the roadway behind him, -louder and louder, and, looking at Frank stumbling on before him, he -thought what an ill return it would be for all Sir William’s kindness to -let harm come to the boy. So he halted short and faced back; close -behind him was one trooper with a yellow sash and somewhat in his rear -came three others. How long the horse’s head looked, Hugh reflected -dazedly, and would the man slash down at him with his sword and make -such a gash as he had seen upon Ned Griffith? Then there was no space -for reflection or remembrance, only the horse’s head grazed by him, he -saw the man lean forward in his saddle, and, thrusting up his pistol -with the muzzle aimed under the man’s upraised arm, he fired. The sword -grazed down weakly across his shoulder, the edge slipping harmlessly -over the stout buff; then the sword fell to the roadway, the horse -clattered forward a pace or two, and the rider reeled headlong from the -saddle. The horse went galloping away down the road with the stirrups -beating against his flanks. - -A shout from behind brought Hugh to his senses. He ran forward, got a -fleeting sight of the rebel trooper, who lay outstretched on his back in -the roadway with a grayish shade gathering on his face, then came up -with Frank and caught him by the arm. “Off the road, quick!” he panted. -“They’ll ride us down.” - -They went headlong over the low embankment and struggled blindly forward -into the field. Hugh had jammed his pistol into his belt, wondering how -many seconds it would take him to draw his sword clear for a final -stand, when Frank reeled up against him, crying: “My ankle! I’ve -wrenched it again.” With that he pitched down at Hugh’s feet, and Hugh, -clapping his hand to the hilt of the sword, stood over him and faced -about. Then he saw the rebel horsemen had drawn rein in the roadway and -were watching them but not following, behind him he heard horses coming, -and Frank, suddenly scrambling to his feet, began shouting. “King’s men! -Hurrah!” - -Hugh turned about in time to see a little squad of eight or ten horsemen -with scarlet scarfs come riding out of the twilight and pull up -alongside them. There was something familiar in the broad shoulders of -the leader and the gruff voice in which he began: “’Tis happy for you, -gentlemen, that we—” - -“Corporal Ridydale, have you forgot me?” Hugh interrupted breathlessly, -going up to the man’s stirrup. - -“Forgot you, sir?” Ridydale made answer, “Lord, no, sir. Jump up behind -me. ’Tis not a healthy place hereabouts for men of our color.—Here, -Rodes, take t’other young gentleman up behind you.” - -After delaying long enough to slip his new baldric over his shoulder, -Hugh scrambled up behind Ridydale, and the little squad headed across -the field toward Edgehill. How had the battle gone, Hugh asked, as soon -as he had recovered breath; and Ridydale told him the Prince and Colonel -Gwyeth had hunted the rebels clear beyond Kineton. “The knaves banged -our troop some deal, but we had brave plundering in the town,” the -corporal ended. “‘How has the day gone in the rest of the field?’ I know -not; we have done our part.” - -“Colonel Gwyeth had no hurt?” Hugh broke in. - -“No thanks to him that he hasn’t, the madman!” Ridydale answered. “He -would fight in his shirt, for he swore these fellows were too paltry for -a gentleman to guard against. So he laid off his armor ere he rode into -the fight. Now that, sir, is the temper the gentlemen of your house have -ever been of, and ’tis the only fitting temper.” - -It looked like the beginning of their usual disagreement, so Hugh kept -silent, the more willingly since he found himself tired so that even -talking required exertion. He leaned rather heavily against Ridydale, -and watched the field, that looked gray in the deepening twilight, slip -by them, and, when he shut his eyes, still saw the field with the -trampled bodies of men and writhing chargers. Then, of a sudden, their -horse pulled up. “I take it we’ll rendezvous here,” he heard the -corporal say. “Perchance you’ll bide with us till the colonel comes, -sir?” - -“No,” Hugh said hurriedly, slipping down from the horse. “Thank you, -Ridydale. We’d have been in a bad way but for you.” - -Then he stumbled away with Frank across the hummocky plain, which -darkness made all the more treacherous, and, scrambling up the hill to -the broad summit, toiled about among the scattered troops that were -straggling back. “I am clean spent” his companion said sorrowfully. “I -would not be a foot soldier for all the gold in the kingdom. Where think -you my father is, Hugh?” - -“We’ll try to find him,” Hugh answered, with what cheerfulness he could -summon, and turned aside to ask a friendly-looking soldier if he knew -where Sir William Pleydall’s troop was stationed. The man did not know, -and, indeed, in the confusion and darkness no one seemed to know -anything; so the two boys could only tramp up and down, Frank -expostulating crossly and Hugh too utterly weary to respond, till at -last they got sight of a figure that looked familiar in the dusk. -Running thither they found it was Major Bludsworth, whereupon Frank -nearly hugged him. “I never was so glad to see you before, sir,” he -cried. “Where is my father, and when are we going to have anything to -eat?” - -Bludsworth took Frank by the arm, and half carried him a rod or so to a -small fire beneath a bank about which Sir William and a little knot of -his officers were standing. “Here’s a runaway in quest of you, Sir -William,” he announced brusquely. - -“Francis, you here?” Sir William asked, with some displeasure. - -“Prithee, do not be angry, sir,” Frank protested, “I’ve had a gallant -day of it. And I have not had the least hurt. And Hugh here killed a -man, sir. And has Dick Strangwayes brought back my Jade?” - -“The beast is unscathed,” answered Sir William, drawing Frank to him -with a hand on his shoulder. “And another time you may as well ride in -on her back at the start and done with.” - -“Master Strangwayes has come out safe, then?” Hugh’s eagerness made him -strike in. - -“No hurt at all, his usual fortune,” Sir William replied, before he -turned away to one of those beside him. - -Hugh had to check his questions on his tongue’s end, and wait and look -about in the hope each instant that Dick might come tramping to the -fire. But the minutes ran on, Frank had settled himself by the blaze, -and Sir William had no time to heed a boy’s concerns, so Hugh must -finally take courage and, going to Bludsworth, ask of Dick’s -whereabouts. “Young Strangwayes?” replied the major. “Why, he has gone -back to the house we quartered at; some one had to convey Cornet -Griffith thither.” - -“Well, he’s left the road behind him,” Hugh answered stoutly, and, -turning from the fire, faced into the black of the night. - -At first, what with the foot and horse soldiers and camp followers to be -met, the gleam of the bivouac fires on either hand, and the tumult of -the army all about him, it was brisk enough journeying. But, as he -passed out from the circle of the encampment and the bustle around him -subsided, he found his riding-boots felt heavy and the going was far -slower than it had been that morning. It was dark overhead, so he -stumbled, and once his new sword tripped him. He put his hand to the -hilt so as to strike up the blade, and then as he trudged he fell to -wondering what manner of man the sword had belonged to, and he thought -on the trooper with the wound in his throat, and the many faces of dead -men. When a branch snapped in a copse to his left he halted short with -his heart thumping, then told himself he was a fool and tried to whistle -as he walked. But there came on him a desire to look back over his -shoulder, and the echo of his whistle made his blood thrill -unpleasantly. There was a thicket he must pass through, he remembered, -before he reached the manor house; he dreaded it long, and, when he came -to it, clinched his hands tight and walked slowly, while the gray face -of the trooper he had himself slain dazzled up and down before his eyes. -Half through the thicket he broke into a run, and, with not even will -enough left in his tired body to restrain himself, plunged heavily -across the open to the door of the hall, where there was light. He -stumbled against the door, which resisted, and, in a panic he could not -comprehend, he shook it. - -“Gently, gently,” came a voice that calmed him. The door swung open, and -in the candlelight that shone within he saw Dick Strangwayes, with his -cuirass and helmet off, his coat hanging unfastened, and the same old -half-laughing look in his eyes, while his lips kept sober. - -Hugh pitched in headlong and blindly griped his friend in his arms. -“Dick, Dick,” he burst out, “I have found you. And, Dick, I—I killed a -man to-day.” - -“Is that all?” Strangwayes drawled with one arm about him. “Why, I -killed three.” - - - - - CHAPTER XI - COMRADES IN ARMS - - -There were no dreams for Hugh after he had stretched himself out on a -bench in the hall as Strangwayes bade him. He was too exhausted in body -and spirit to question or speak; he only knew he was glad he had found -his friend once more, and the cushion beneath his head felt soft, so he -went dead asleep, and lost at last the remembrance of the sights of the -day’s carnage. He had no dreams and he was loath even to have a waking; -some one shook him again and yet again, but he only murmured drowsily, -with a voice that seemed far off to him, till he was pulled up sitting. -He screwed his knuckles into his eyes, turning his face from the -candlelight, and he heard Strangwayes laugh: “Look you here, Captain -Turner. This gentleman must have a clear conscience by the way he -sleeps.” - -The thought that Turner’s sharp eyes were on him made Hugh face about -and sit blinking at the candles. The hall where they had that morning -eaten was quite bare now and dark, except for the two flickering candles -and the uncertain firelight. In front of the chimney-piece Turner, all -equipped to ride forth, was making a lunch of a biscuit and a glass of -wine he held in his hands, and the only other occupant of the apartment -was Dick Strangwayes, who, wrapped to the chin in his cloak, stood by -the bench. “Awake, eh?” he smiled down at Hugh. “Good morrow, then.” - -“What’s the time?” Hugh asked, peering across the hall at the windows, -which were squares of blackness. - -“Past two and nipping cold. Are you fit to ride back to the field with -us?” - -For answer Hugh staggered to his feet, marvelling at the stiffness in -his legs, and tried to hold himself erect. “Here, on with this,” said -Strangwayes, throwing a cloak about him. “I judged ’twas yours, and if -’tis not, the man who left his goods so careless deserves to lose them. -And slip this sash over your sword-belt. It was Ned Griffith’s, but -he’ll not need—” - -“He’s not dead?” Hugh broke out. - -“No, no; but he’ll be of little more use than a dead man for the next -four months. Slash in the breast and his leg broke by some of our horse -as he lay. You’ll need to look you out a new cornet, Captain Turner.” - -“They dropped my lieutenant, too, down by Kineton,” said Turner, putting -by his glass. “Gwyeth’s troop and mine, there on the flank, we suffered -for it. Do you judge those knaves will have the horses saddled ere -daybreak?” - -“Is there more fighting to come?” Hugh questioned sleepily, as he tried -to tie the scarlet sash across his chest. - -“Enough to flesh that maiden sword of yours,” Turner paused at the door -to reply. “By the bye, Master Strangwayes, is it true that Captain -Peyton was slain in the charge? He owes me five sovereign on my wager -that neither side could call the day theirs, and if he has got himself -killed!” Turner shrugged his shoulders and passed out. - -“What has brought him hither?” Hugh yawned. - -“Poor old lad! Eat a bit and try to wake up,” urged Strangwayes. “What -has brought Michael Turner? Why, his love for that poor little troop he -let get so wofully peppered in the fight. He has been ravaging the -country for a horse-load of bread with which to fill their stomachs, ere -the battle he is sure will come this day. And now, question for -question, what brings you here, so far from Colonel Gwyeth?” - -Hugh put down on the table the piece of bread he had been eating, and -looked across at Strangwayes, then blurted out plainly the whole story. -He was glad to find he could tell it almost without passion now, with -not a censuring word for Colonel Gwyeth, and even with an effort to make -a jest of some of the happenings. He heard Strangwayes mutter something -like an oath when he described his first meeting with the colonel, but -there was not another sound till he told of the affair with Hardwyn; -then Strangwayes drew in his breath between his teeth and turned toward -the fire. Hugh concluded hurriedly and half frightened, and waited for -an answer; then broke out, “Dick, sure you’re not going to despise me -for it as he does?” - -Strangwayes came to him and put both hands on his shoulders. “No, Hugh,” -he said, “I need all the scorn that’s at my command for that precious -father of yours.” - -The jar of the opening door made them stand apart and face to the end of -the hall, as Turner looked in to say, “Do you ride with me, gentlemen?” - -Outside, a chilly wind that stung the face was abroad, and the sky was -black with clouds. Hugh paused on the threshold to blink the candlelight -out of his eyes, then, peering into the dark, made out the dim figures -of Turner, already in the saddle, and of two of his mounted troopers who -held led horses, and, last of all, let his gaze rest on a half-wakened -groom who came up with two fully equipped chargers. At sight of them -Hugh jumped down from the doorstone, and, after one closer glance, -cried, “Why, Dick, will you suffer me ride the bay?” - -“The bay?” Strangwayes answered from the black horse’s back. “Your bay, -you young fool! Why in the name of reason did you not keep the beast -with you, since you captured him?” - -Hugh settled himself in the saddle and turned the horse’s head in his -companion’s tracks, too full of joy to heed anything, save that the bay -that had known him in the Everscombe stables, that Peregrine Oldesworth -would not suffer him even to stroke, was now his, all his. He put out -one hand to stroke the warm neck, and whistled softly to see the slender -ears erected. - -“Hold up, man! You’re riding me down,” came Strangwayes’ voice beside -him, and he found he had pushed forward till they were crowding knee to -knee. - -“Do you honestly mean me to keep this fellow?” Hugh asked. - -“If you can,” Strangwayes replied; “I’m thinking you’ll keep him on -three legs if you do not spare talk and look to him over this rough -ground.” - -Hugh laughed happily, then drew the reins tauter in his hands, and -strained his eyes into the dark ahead lest some pitfall open to swallow -up the bay horse from under him. The road was so short, as he traversed -it now, that he was sorry when the fires on Edgehill twinkled in the -distance, and, picking their way cautiously, they came to the rendezvous -of Turner’s troop. “I am keeping by the captain, do you see?” -Strangwayes whispered Hugh as they dismounted. “He has lost his -lieutenant, and Sir William has promised to set me in the first -vacancy.” - -Of the rest of the night Hugh only remembered that his knees were very -warm with the fire by which he sat, and his back was cold in spite of -his cloak. The flames crackled bravely, and Strangwayes talked nonsense, -to which Captain Turner listened in deep and sober approbation. But -Hugh, crowded close up to Strangwayes, said nothing, just gazed at the -fire and closed his eyes once in a while, till at last he went -ignominiously asleep with his head on his friend’s shoulder. - -Waking with neck stiff and arm cramped, he found to his delight the east -all pale in the dawn, so, slipping the bridle of the bay horse over his -arm, he went strolling across the encampment till he could find out -Frank and show him his new mount. But Frank, now confident in the -possession of The Jade, discovered many flaws in the bay, which he set -forth in horseman-like phrases till Hugh went sauntering back again to -Strangwayes. At Turner’s fire he found a newcomer, a brown-haired young -officer, who had once taken him for a horse-boy, whom Strangwayes now -made known to him under the name of George Allestree, guidon in Captain -Butler’s dragoons, and serving as a volunteer at Edgehill. Discreetly -ignoring their former meeting, Allestree was effusively grateful to Hugh -for the use of the bay, which Strangwayes had lent him to ride thither, -and altogether proved so pleasant spoken a fellow that Hugh ended by -putting out of mind the memory of his previous conduct. - -With Allestree and Strangwayes Hugh passed the long day, now talking a -bit by the ashes of last night’s fire, then rising to stretch his legs -and look to his horse, then back to the fire again, where he ate such -rations as were dealt to him and felt rather hungry afterward. It was a -day of uncertainty and idleness beneath which lay a tense expectancy; -any moment a blow might be struck for the king, yet the moments passed -and nothing was done. About noon Turner stalked off to confer with Sir -William, but he came back whistling and non-committal; indeed, there was -nothing but the old story to tell: his Majesty’s army rested on Edgehill -and my Lord Essex’s army was drawn up in the plain below, and each -looked at the other, but neither moved to strike. - -They were not up in action till mid-afternoon of the next day, when -there came word the rebels were retreating, and, right on the heels of -that, a definite order for the horse to form in the plain. Once more -Hugh scrambled down the slope of Edgehill, but this time his feet were -braced in the stirrups, his sword smote against his horse’s flank, and -all about him, in loud talk of the victory they were soon to gain, other -mounted men were descending. Once more he had sight of ranks of horsemen -marshalling for a charge, but now he was himself in the thick of it, -and, when the word was passed along, waved his sword with the rest, then -galloped forward amidst his comrades. Before him the plain swept into -the western sky, where the clouds were shiny with the sun they hid, the -wind came sharp in his face, and around him men shouted and horses -plunged till his own beast, too, catching the joy of movement, reared -up. This was war, Hugh thought, and only for a second recalled it was -the same bloody field over which he had tramped not eight and forty -hours ago. Then across the plain he saw a cluster of roofs, and, as they -spurred faster, made out the windows of the cottages, and men moving in -the street. At that the shouting in the ranks about him became a yell of -onset, and he, too, rising up in his stirrups, screamed, “For a king, a -king!” - -Of what followed nothing was quite clear. There were houses, a woman -that ran shrieking in front of his horse, and a Roundhead soldier he saw -bleeding upon a doorstone. He heard shots to the front, saw some of his -side press past him in flight, and after that he was mixed in a -confusion of horses and men of both parties. He struck wildly in with -his sword, whereat a Royalist dragoon, swinging round in his saddle, -cursed him volubly in German and in English as not old enough to be -trusted with cutting tools, and crowding past the man he left him still -cursing. Then he was wedged into a lane, where was a baggage-wagon with -a teamster on it who tried to lash forward his four horses. One Cavalier -trooper slashed up at the fellow where he sat, while another was cutting -the traces. Up at the far end of the lane was a shouting, “The rebels -are coming!” Hugh urged the bay forward to the heads of the leaders, -and, bending from the saddle, cut the traces with his sword. Then a ruck -of the Royalist troops was about him, and, as men caught at the freed -horses, he judged it proper to seize one of them by the bit and hold to -him, while the crowd forced him back down the lane, past the wagon and -the teamster dead beneath its wheels. From the rear came shots, but -there was no facing about in such a throng, so with the rest Hugh swept -back at a gallop through Kineton out into the open country. - -The pace slackening now, he slipped his sword back into the sheath, and, -taking time to look about him, saw some of those who rode near had been -cut, but he himself and his two horses were without a scratch. Turning -in the saddle to gaze back, he saw other bands of horse come straggling -behind them. “Is the fight all over?” he asked a trooper who trotted -beside him. - -“Over?” swore the fellow. “What more d’ye want?” Then he looked pretty -sharply at Hugh, and ended by offering to lead the wagon-horse for him, -an offer the boy refused. Next the trooper, assuring Hugh he might have -no end of difficulties in maintaining his right in the capture, proposed -to give him ten shillings for the beast. What more he would say Hugh -never found out, for, as they rode at a slackened pace a little on the -flank, a horseman from the rear came charging into them, stared, and -cried Hugh’s name. It was Bob Saxon of Gwyeth’s troop, who, scenting a -matter of horse-dealing, voluntarily came in, and, falling upon the -other man, bepraised the captured horse till he clean talked the fellow -out of the field. - -“Ten shillings?” Saxon repeated contemptuously to Hugh, “Lord forgive -the knave! The beast is worth fifty. Come along with me, sir, and I’ll -find you a market.” - -They made a great circuit off to the north of the field and about dusk -fetched up in a hamlet to the rear of the army, whither Royalist troops -were now marching from Edgehill to seek quarters. Saxon gathered some -half score of dragoons and a petty officer or two in the street before -the village inn, where, with loud swearing and shouting, he showed off -to them the captured horse. There followed much chaffering and -wrangling, with Saxon’s voice loudest, which ended in the paying of the -money and the delivering over of the beast. “Fifty shillings, as I -promised you, sir,” Saxon announced, as he told them into Hugh’s hand, -with a suggestive look that made Hugh pass him back five for himself. - -“You’re a good piece of a gentleman, sir,” the trooper said candidly, as -they rode out from the hamlet. “Be you never going to serve under -Colonel Gwyeth?” - -Hugh winced and answered “No,” then, bidding Saxon good-bye, headed for -the manor house, which he was not able to discover till mid-evening. It -was a relief to find himself safe among his comrades, for he was so -conscious of the forty-five shillings in his pocket that he felt sure -every prowler and hanger-on of the camp must have marked them for -plunder. - -From the field of Edgehill the royal army marched to Banbury, which -yielded to them unresistingly. To Hugh this was far pleasanter marching -than the passage through Warwickshire, for not only did he now wear a -sword and a red sash that marked him of the king’s men, but he had his -own horse, Bayard, as he had named him for his bay color. The animal -contented him very well, though Frank and The Jade distanced him -whenever they raced a piece. “Bayard is no ambler; he was built for -serious work in the field,” Hugh replied loftily to Frank’s jeers, and -betook himself to Dick Strangwayes, whose mere presence was comforting. -He trailed along at Dick’s side, ate with him, and shared his bed, and, -in return, would gladly have cleaned Dick’s boots and groomed his horse, -the horse that had once belonged to Captain Oldesworth. He knew better, -however, than to offer such service, so he satisfied himself with taking -their two horses to stable, and standing over the groom who cared for -them to see the task was done without shirking. - -On the night they lay at Banbury he came in from such labor and in their -chamber found Strangwayes unbuckling his cuirass, and singing, which was -with him a sign of either very good or very bad fortune. “What’s to do, -Dick?” Hugh asked, lighting a candle at the fireplace. - -“What do you say to a lieutenancy to the front of my name again, and -over seasoned fighting men this time, not Jacks such as I misgoverned in -the Scots war?” - -“Sir William has given you the lieutenancy under Turner?” - -“Ay, and on the heel of that comes better: Turner’s troop rides for -service into Northamptonshire to-morrow.” - -“That’s well,” Hugh answered rather sorrowfully, as he put the candle on -the table. “Luck go with you.” - -“Come along and bring it to us. Ay, you’re to go. I told my uncle we -could use you as a volunteer. You see, the troop is short one officer -since Griffith left.” - -“Yes?” Hugh urged, with curiosity. - -“I’m promising you nothing, remember,” Strangwayes continued soberly. -“But there’s that vacant cornetcy, and you’re a lad of a steady -courage,—I pray you, spare blushing,—and of a discreeter head than most -of your years. Now, first, you’re to ride with us and do all you can to -satisfy Captain Turner.” - -“Dick, I cannot satisfy him,” Hugh gasped, almost bewildered by the -coolness and breadth of Strangwayes’ plan. “Captain Turner never does -aught but mock me; I’m near as unhappy with him as with my father.” He -could have bit his tongue for the ease with which it let slip such a -piece of the truth, but Strangwayes only gave him one involuntary look, -then changed the subject hastily to the matter of the raid into -Northamptonshire. - -Next day, when his Majesty and his men rode south for Oxford, Captain -Turner, Lieutenant Strangwayes, and Volunteer Gwyeth, with some forty -troopers, got to saddle and went cantering eastward, to their own -pleasure and the discomfort of more than one Puritan of -Northamptonshire. It was partisan warfare, but Turner waged it -honorably; and Hugh, after he once got used to riding with his hand on -his hilt through villages of hostile, scowling people, had no quarrel -with the life. - -They made their first dash for a country-house where arms and powder -were stored; there was slight resistance, a shot or two without damage, -a door battered in, and then Hugh was detailed with five men to ransack -a wing of the house where were the kitchen and offices. As they found -nothing they only wearied themselves with the thorough search Hugh -insisted on, and got laughed at for their pains by a fat kitchen wench. -But Strangwayes and his squad captured six muskets and a keg of powder, -though he came away grumbling. “No more work of that sort for me,” he -confided to Hugh. “You, you rogue, were safe in the buttery, while I was -rummaging the parlor, and the gentlewomen stood off with their skirts -gathered round them and glowered on me as if I were a cutpurse. I’m -thinking the time will never come that women understand the laws of -war.” - -Afterward they struck into a small town where more powder was said to be -hid. Across the narrow part of the main street the people had built a -barricade of carts and household stuff, so Turner, after reconnoitring, -determined on a charge. “You had best bear the colors, Gwyeth,” he said, -as the troop fell into order outside the village. “Strangwayes must ride -at the rear, and, in any case, his two arms are of more profit to us -than yours.” - -Hugh forgave the sneer as the cornet of the troop was put into his -hands. Like all Sir William’s cornets, it was a red flag with a golden -ball upon it, the prettiest colors in the world, Hugh considered, except -the black flag with the cross of gold that Colonel Gwyeth’s troop -marched under. Settling the staff firmly against his thigh, he glanced -up to see the folds of the flag droop in the still air, then took his -place by Turner at the front of the troop, and, a moment later, charged -in behind him. The stones clicked beneath the horses’ feet, the cottages -sped by, the barricade, whence came the hateful spitting of muskets, was -right before them. Hugh swerved for the left end, where the structure -was lowest, and Bayard, gathering himself up, cleared it at a leap. -Behind the barricade were men of all coats, some loading and steadily -firing, but more already scrambling down to flee. One, crying out at -sight of Hugh, broke away the faster; another levelled a pistol at him, -but before he could fire Bayard’s hoofs had struck him into the kennel. -Then the whole barricade seemed to go down as the Cavaliers, some still -in the saddle, others dismounted to scramble the better, came pouring -over. - -Thus the king’s men possessed themselves of the town and took the -powder, which for some days to come supplied them. But there was a price -to pay, for in the encounter they had two men wounded, one of whom died -that night, and on the morrow before they marched was buried in an -orchard. Hugh never forgot the look of the leafless trees, the frosty -ground, and the silent men, who stood drawn up, with their breastpieces -strapped in place, all ready to mount. Each tenth man sat his horse with -the bridles of his comrades’ steeds in his hand, and there, at a little -distance from the horses, some of the townspeople, loitering with -curious, unsympathetic faces, peered and pointed at those about the -grave. They buried the dead trooper without his armor, but with his -cloak wrapped round him, and Strangwayes, standing with his helmet under -one arm, read the burial service. For the life of him Hugh could not -help thinking of that sermon Dick had once preached to Emry and his -friends, and there came on him an unbecoming desire to laugh, which -mixed with a choke in his throat so his lips moved till he was well -assured Captain Turner must think him no better than a child. - -The morning sunlight was strong when they rode away from the orchard, -and half a mile out the troopers were swearing good-humoredly at each -other, and Strangwayes was jesting at the bravery of the town watch, a -single countryman whom he had hauled out, roaring for mercy, from -beneath an empty cart. Hugh laughed at the tale, and laid it to heart -that in war no man can hold regrets long, for his turn may come next, -and what little life may be left him is not given to be needlessly -saddened. - -So he designedly carried a light heart under his buff jacket, and seized -what enjoyment he could from the small matters of everyday work. He was -happy when they had broiled bacon or a chicken for supper, which was not -often, and thankful for any makeshift of a bed; he took pleasure in -cantering Bayard at the head of the troop, and watching the red and gold -cornet flutter and flap above him; and he liked the fierce, hard knocks -of the skirmishes they had, in little villages and at lonely -country-houses, here and there through the shire. But when food failed -and there was no bed but the ground, when he was weary and sore with -much riding, even on that one wretched day when a troop of Roundhead -dragoons fell on them and sent them scampering with three saddles empty, -he got his best content from Strangwayes’ friendship, which made him -surer of himself and readier to face the world, yet humbler in his -efforts to keep the affection of the older man. - -The thought that the winning of a commission in that troop meant more -such days of service with Strangwayes caused Hugh to redouble his -efforts to please Turner, and he succeeded so far that after the first -skirmish the captain suffered him to carry the cornet. For the rest, -Turner met all his honest efforts and prompt obedience with sarcasms on -his youth and simplicity, which made Hugh wince and go on laboring -bravely. Only one word of approbation did he get of Turner; that was on -a pouring wet night when Hugh came in from a watch with the pickets, -soaked to the skin, and, finding no food, lay down without a word on the -floor of the cottage where the officers were quartered, and went sound -asleep. Through his waking he could have sworn he heard Turner say, -“After all, Lieutenant, there’s the right mettle in this crop-headed -whelp.” - -Though when Hugh opened his eyes and saw Turner standing over him with a -candle in his hand, the latter only said, “My faith, sir, do you ever do -aught but sleep?” - -Thus with work and enjoyment of work the month of November passed, and -meantime his Majesty with the bulk of his army had marched to London, -and then marched back again. Afterward men said a kingdom might have -been gained upon that journey and had been cast away, but at that time -Turner’s troop had only rumors of marches and countermarches, till in -the early December a definite order reached them to repair to the king’s -headquarters at Oxford and join themselves to their regiment. - -It was in the mid-afternoon that they at last rode into the city, where -the High Street was gay with bravely dressed men and sleek horses, and -the old gray buildings seemed alive with people. So many fine troops -were passing and re-passing that none gave special heed to the little -muddy band out of Northamptonshire. They passed unnoticed out by the -North Gate toward the parish of St. Giles, where quarters had been -assigned Sir William’s regiment, and there, in the dingy stable, the -officers parted. Hugh of necessity surrendered the cornet into Turner’s -hands with a last regretful look at its idle folds. “You made shift not -to lose it, did you not, sir?” the captain said with some kindness. -“Why, you’re no more of an encumbrance to a troop of fighting men than -most youngsters are.” - -Then Turner and Strangwayes walked away to report themselves to Sir -William, while Hugh remained to see that Bayard and Dick’s Black Boy -were well groomed. To tell the truth, he was glad to linger in the -stable with the men among whom he had spent the last month; he wondered -if he was to have the chance to serve with them always, and the thought -made him nearly tremble with expectancy. - -He was loitering by the stable door, when he caught sight of a familiar -blue jacket, and Frank Pleydall, in company with two lads of his own -age, came swaggering up. “So you’re back again, are you, Hugh?” he -cried, with a boisterous embrace. “And more freckled than ever, I swear! -Is that heavy-heeled horse of yours still unfoundered? Nay, don’t scowl, -I mean nothing. But tell me, is Michael Turner’s troop here or in the -stable across the way? I want to have a look at its fighting force.” - -“Wherefore?” Hugh blurted out suspiciously. - -“Why, I’m to hold Griffith’s cornetcy in it. Such labor as I had to win -it, Hugh. Talk to my father night and day, swear I had the strength and -discretion of twenty, vow to run away if he gave it not to me, so in the -end I secured it of him. Cornet Pleydall; how like you the sound? I told -you I’d coax a commission of him.” - -“You will find Captain Turner a gallant man to serve under,” Hugh said, -after a moment. “Good-bye, Frank, I’m weary now. I’ll speak with you -to-morrow.” - -With that he passed out into the street and headed aimlessly, he cared -not whither. He had not known till now how sure he had felt of that -cornetcy. And that a mere boy like Frank should be preferred over him, -because his kinsfolk gave him their countenance! For one instant he -almost had it in his heart to wish himself back at Everscombe, still -believing in his father, and still confident the world stood ready to -receive a man kindly for his own endeavors. - -Too wretched to think or lay a plan for the future, he plodded up and -down the crowded streets till it grew dusk and pitchy dark, when sheer -weariness turned him to his quarters; at least Strangwayes was his -friend. The thought put more life into his step and made him hurry a -little with impatience till he had sought out the baker’s shop, in an -upper chamber of which they were to lodge. To his disappointment Dick -had not yet come in, so Hugh, without spirit enough to light a candle, -sat down on a stool by the fire with his chin in his hands and waited. - -When he heard Strangwayes’ step outside, he endeavored to force a gay -tone and shouted him a greeting, but now he tried to use it his voice -broke helplessly. “There, I’ve heard it all, Hugh,” Strangwayes said, -and made no movement to get a light; “and I’m thinking Turner takes it -as ill as we do. He kept an assenting face to Sir William, of course, -but he blurted out to me that the deuce was in it that a little popinjay -like Frank must be thrust into our troop.” - -Hugh forced a desperate laugh that ended in a choke. - -“And I’ve another piece of news for you,” Strangwayes went on, sitting -down beside him. “Now you can take it as good or bad, which you please. -I’m not resolved yet myself. You’ll recollect Peyton was shot at -Edgehill, and we lost many men from the regiment. Well, they’ve taken -another troop that suffered much and used it to fill up the place. And a -new captain has been put over it under Sir William.” - -“Is it you, Dick?” Hugh asked. - -“Nay,” Strangwayes answered, with a chuckle; “’tis a one time -independent colonel, Alan Gwyeth.” - - - - - CHAPTER XII - FOR THE HONOR OF THE GWYETHS - - -“You’re free to take it as you choose, good or ill,” Strangwayes went -on; “but I can tell you Colonel Gwyeth is in no two minds about it.” - -“I am sorry for him,” Hugh answered, after an instant. “I know it does -wring a man to lose a commission out of his very hands.” - -“Since I must steer to the windward of hypocrisy, I am _not_ sorry for -him,” Strangwayes returned. “And do not you worry yourself over his -broken spirit, Hugh; so far he has borne up stoutly. At the last report -he was ranging about with his sword at ready, bent on scoring out all -his wrongs upon Master Philip Bellasis.” - -“Philip Bellasis?” queried Hugh, struggling to recall what that name -stood for. “What has he to do in this matter?” - -“The simplicity of untutored youth!” Strangwayes’ voice came pityingly. -“Why, ’tis clear as most logic: my Lord Bellasis of the king’s council -disapproves of these small independent troops, and has given his voice -loudest, ’tis said, for merging Gwyeth’s horse into Sir William’s -regiment; _ergo_, Colonel Gwyeth has taken my Lord Bellasis into his -hatred. My Lord Bellasis is blessed with the gout; _ergo_, Colonel -Gwyeth, not to waste so precious a commodity as hatred upon a disabled -man, transfers all his intentions to my lords swashbuckling son Philip. -For, granting the colonel’s temper, he must fight something now, and he -would vastly prefer something of the name of Bellasis.” - -Hugh still kept his old place without offering comment, so Strangwayes, -after a moment or two, rose and lit a candle at the hearth. He did not -pause even to slip off his accoutrements, but, holding the light, began -roaming about the chamber on inspection, and communicating the results -of his researches to his companion: “We might be worse placed. Two -flights of stairs upward from the ground, so the air should be delicate -and wholesome. Also the room is so small the fireplace ought to heat it -well. And for the lack of furnishings, the emptiness near cheats a man -into believing he has space enough to stretch himself. A contented -spirit, mark you, is an admirable necessity in a soldier.” - -In the end he brought up at the nearer of the two windows, which he -opened, and, after a long look out into the night, drew in his head -again with a soberer face. “If I risked myself a hand-breadth further -from the casement, I think I could make out the roofs of St. John’s,” he -said, sitting down quietly, with the one small table betwixt himself and -Hugh. “’Tis the good old college of which I was so unworthy a son. I am -glad we lie near it.” - -“Where is the rest of the regiment?” Hugh asked. - -“Sir William and most of his officers lodge just over the way at a -merchant’s house; Turner and Chadwell and Seymour are here under the -roof with us. We’ll all meet together at Sir William’s table.” - -Hugh started back on his stool so he nearly overset himself. “Dick,” he -burst out, “that means that thrice a day I shall be forced face to face -with Colonel Gwyeth.” - -Strangwayes nodded, and then, the sheer absurdity of the whole position -coming over them, they both went into a fit of laughter. - -Hugh recovered himself with a saner feeling of self-possession. “After -all, it’s very simple,” he said aloud; “he’ll take no note of me, I -know, and I’ll bear me as I would to Captain Turner, or any of the older -men.” - -But, in spite of his stout words, when he woke in the dark of next -morning Hugh could not sleep again for thinking of Colonel Gwyeth, and -wondering if he would see him at breakfast and if the colonel would -speak to him. - -When he first entered the long upper chamber of the house across the way -that served the officers for dining hall, he looked about him, half -eager and half in dread, and despising himself for both emotions. But he -saw no sign of Alan Gwyeth, Colonel Gwyeth, as he named him to himself, -for all he was now a mere captain. Two of the officers of the old -independent troop, a German, Von Holzberg, and a certain Foster, who had -come over into the regiment with the colonel, Frank pointed out to him; -but Hugh only glanced at the men and went on eating. He wondered if it -had been either of them that shoved him off the steps that night at -Shrewsbury, and he had no desire to come in contact with them. - -After breakfast Frank Pleydall haled him off to view the city. “You -might spare me one hour away from your Dick Strangwayes,” the younger -lad complained. “But I knew after you got sight of him you’d not have a -word for me.” - -Hugh felt conscience-stricken, so he forced himself to be very pleasant -to Frank, in spite of the boy’s persisting in talking of Turner’s troop -and his new cornetcy. Before they reached the High Street of the city, -however, they were joined by several other youngsters, one a lad from -Magdalen, the others, boys whose fathers were serving the king, with all -of whom Frank seemed to have a ripe acquaintance. Hugh concluded Master -Pleydall was not suffering for companionship, and presently he -concluded, too, it was a companionship into which he could not hope to -enter. He had an unhappy feeling of aloofness from the amusements of -these boys; he knew next to nothing of bowls or dice of which they -spoke, and when one lad began to jeer another about a girl, he did not -understand. So presently he took his leave of Frank, who was too busied -with his comrades to take much heed of his going, and started back by -himself to his quarters. - -He was walking rather slowly, to study the landmarks he had noted and -find his way without inquiry, when some one took him a boisterous clap -on the shoulder. Facing about with a deal of indignation in his -movement, he found it was George Allestree, who merely stood back and -laughed at him. “You need but two wings to make a paragon of a turkey -cock, Hugh Gwyeth,” he said amusedly. “Are you looking for diversion? -Come along with me. I am sick for some one to talk with.” - -Perhaps it was not a complimentary invitation, but Allestree followed it -up by being so cordial and jolly that Hugh went with him out to the -walks of Magdalen, and back into the city to dine at an ordinary. They -had only just come out into the street again, when Hugh perceived a -sudden surging of the foot passengers about him to the edge of the -kennel, and such horsemen as were passing drew to the side to leave the -way clear. Then some one raised a cry, “The king!” and others began -cheering. Allestree caught Hugh’s sleeve and drew him up a flight of -steps, whence, looking over the heads of the people, they could see a -little band of mounted gentlemen come slowly pacing down the High -Street. - -“Look you there, ’tis Prince Rupert,” Allestree cried loudly, to be -heard through the cheering, and Hugh took a long look at a tall young -man in a scarlet coat, whose whole attention was fixed upon his restless -horse. Then he heard the cheers redouble, and Allestree had now joined -his voice to the uproar. Right before the spot where he stood Hugh got -sight in the midst of the horsemen of one with a pointed beard and -slender face, who bowed his head never so slightly to those who cheered -around him. - -Then the horsemen had passed by, men turned to go their way once more, -and Allestree replaced his hat on his head. “Had you lost your voice, -Hugh, that you could not cheer?” he asked curiously. - -“No,” Hugh answered, as he followed down from the steps, “I was -thinking.” - -“’Tis a bad practice. What was it of?” - -“I was thinking his Majesty looks much as other men.” - -“Indeed? And what else?” - -“I was wondering,” Hugh said half to himself, “which had the right of -it, you that do ever so extol him, or my grandfather who laid the blame -of all this on him.” - -“Because your hair is clipped you’ve no need to wear ‘Roundhead’ in your -heart,” Allestree answered sharply. “None but a boy or a fool would -speak so.” Then, as Hugh looked abashed, the other moderated his tone, -and, talking carelessly of this and that, they came at length to -Allestree’s quarters, close outside the North Gate. - -There Allestree would have Hugh out to the troop stables, to show him -Captain Butler’s gamecocks; and, in the midst of it, Butler himself -walked into the stable. Hugh remembered his dark, low-browed face very -well from their first encounter, but he was surprised and a little -flattered also to find the captain knew him at the mention of his name. -“The brave lad that saved me my old friend Strangwayes,” Butler said, -with a bit of an Irish accent, and shook hands kindly, then lingered to -set forth the graces of the gamecocks. “Gloucestershire birds, those,” -he explained. “They were hatched of rebel eggs, but I held it sin to -leave them to tempt a good Puritan brother into seeing a cockfight. So I -just made bold to muster them into the king’s service.” - -“We must put them to’t soon, Captain,” said Allestree, and, when Hugh -left them, a good hour later, they were still discussing the cocks. - -It was near dark when Hugh came at last to Sir William’s quarters. The -loud talk of the men above stairs brought him at once up to the dining -room, where he found several officers loitering. “Trust that red devil -Gwyeth,” Lieutenant Chadwell was saying; “he ran Bellasis down, be -sure.” - -“Fight, did they?” asked another. - -“They set out together this afternoon. Yes, they’ve crossed blades ere -this.” - -“Do you know who had the better of it?” Hugh cried, thrusting himself -into the circle. - -Chadwell looked up at him impatiently, then answered, “No”; and Hugh, -staying for no more, ran out of the room. - -Clattering down the stairway to the outer door, he dodged by Turner, -who, facing about on the stair, called, “Whither are you summoned in -such haste?” - -“To the city. To get news of the duel,” Hugh replied, over his shoulder. - -“There’s no need to go that far,” Turner answered moderately; and then, -as Hugh came stumbling back to him up the stairs, went on: “Bellasis was -worsted, a thrust through the shoulder. Captain Gwyeth came off -unscathed.” - -“I was afraid—” Hugh said, clinching his hand about the balustrade as he -stood. - -“Of what?” Turner questioned dryly. “Has the gentleman been such a good -friend—” He broke off there, and looked at Hugh. “I crave your pardon -for that last, Master Gwyeth,” he said, without sarcasm, and walked away -up the stairs. - -That night at supper it seemed marvellous to Hugh that men could speak -or think of anything but the duel. However, there was more speech of -fortifying the city and of the storming of Marlborough than of Captain -Gwyeth’s affairs, so he was glad to get away to his room, where at least -there were none to interrupt his own thoughts. - -Late in the evening Strangwayes joined him. “Yes, yes, you can spare -words; I’ve heard all about that duel,” he greeted Hugh; “and the -town’ll hear more to-morrow. Captain Gwyeth has just sent a message to -Sir William; he passed it on to me, and I’ll do the like by you. Hang me -if the provost did not pounce down on the captain almost ere he quit the -field, and haled him off to the Castle. They want no duelling among the -king’s men.” - -“Will they punish him?” Hugh asked breathlessly. - -“Much!” Strangwayes answered, with vast contempt. “He did but nick -Bellasis, and if report be true that fellow’s injury is no loss to the -kingdom. If he had killed him it might be otherwise, for Bellasis has -great kindred, civilians, too, who would not scruple to bring the law on -his slayer, but as ’tis— Why, they’ll but hold him at the Castle a few -days to encourage those of us who are of like inclination, and then -he’ll come abroad again.” Then something of the warmth of his tone -abated, and he laughed to himself. “’Tis an ill wind that blows no one -good, eh, Hugh? You can eat your daily bread in peace now; for the -present Captain Gwyeth cannot vex you.” - -Indeed, now the constant expectation of meeting with Alan Gwyeth was -removed, Hugh found it far easier to fit himself to the routine of his -new life. At first, to be sure, it cut him every time he saw Strangwayes -buckle on his sword and clank away to the exercise of his troop, and he -winced at every boasting word Frank let fall of the great things he -meant to do now he was a full-fledged cornet. But he soon found that -even a gentleman volunteer who had failed of a commission could be of -use, where the fortifications on the north and southeast were digging; -so for some days he spent hours in the varied assembly of college men -and townsfolk, who labored with pick and shovel at the trenches. It was -inglorious work for a soldier, and it was hard work that sent him to -quarters with blistered hands and aching back. Frank joked him a little -on turning ditcher, some of the other men chaffed, and even Strangwayes -raised his eyebrows with the dry question, “Is it necessary?” - -“If the king cannot use me in one way, I must serve him in another, -since I am eating his bread,” Hugh replied doggedly. - -Whereat Strangwayes’ eyes laughed, and he prayed Hugh, if he thought -’twould make no difference to the king, to quit the trenches for that -afternoon and come ride with him. “Your aim is to be a soldier, is it -not?” he asked, as they paced along the western road beyond the High -Bridge. - -“Yes, if I can get me a commission; ’tis all there is for me.” - -“Good. I began to doubt if you had not determined to turn pioneer. Dig -in the trenches somewhat, by all means, and learn what you can of how -men build fortifications and how the engineers devise them. But you must -not for that neglect your horse and your sword. That brings it to my -mind, Hugh; you should know something of rapier play as well as the -broadsword. There’s a Frenchman in the city shall teach it you.” - -Hugh stammered something, with his eyes on the pommel of his saddle. - -“’Twill be a favor to me if you will take these lessons of him,” -Strangwayes put in hastily. “I knew the man in my college days; he owes -me somewhat from them and would gladly return it thus.” - -So, early as next morning, Strangwayes marched Hugh over to a dingy lane -that led from the Corn market, and up a narrow stair to a bare room, -where he presented him to Monsieur de Sévérac, a fierce small man with -mustaches. De Sévérac stood Hugh up with a rebated sword in his hand, -and thrust at him, talking rapidly in a mixture of French and English, -while Hugh vainly tried to parry the point that invariably got home upon -his body. He came away bewildered and sore, to find the dull labor of -the trenches, where at least he knew what was expected of him, a -downright comfort. But little by little, as the lessons went on, he -began to find a method beneath it all, and to get real pleasure from -wielding the long, light rapier, so different from the broadsword to -which he had been used. De Sévérac even admitted one day that he had a -steady hand, and with practice might make a creditable swordsman. - -With a great desire to whistle, Hugh walked back to dinner, and, two -steps at a time, ran up the stairs at Sir William’s house, a bit before -the hour, he judged, for he found the dining room to all appearances -empty. Then, as he stepped across the threshold, he caught sight of Von -Holzberg, standing in one of the deep window recesses, and beside him a -man with red hair, who at his step turned and looked at him. It was Alan -Gwyeth. For a moment he stared steadily at Hugh, and by his face the boy -could not tell whether his humor were good or ill; then he bowed to him -curtly, as any one of the captains might have done, and continued his -speech with Von Holzberg. They spoke in German, Hugh observed, in the -instant that he halted mechanically before he turned on his heel and -went out of the room. He had no desire to whistle now; he only knew that -he was heavy with a great disappointment, that was none the less -overwhelming for being utterly vague. - -But, in the end, he found that matters went the more smoothly, now the -dreaded meeting was over. It grew in time a mere daily and expected -occurrence to see Captain Gwyeth among the officers, and to receive from -him, in the course of ordinary civility, sometimes a short bow, once or -twice a curt good morrow. But, though Hugh repeated to himself it was -all he had looked to receive of the man, there slowly grew in him an -unrealized sense of resentment that hitherto had had no place in him. He -ceased to look wistfully toward Captain Gwyeth, but made it a point to -talk busily with Frank or Dick or others that he knew when he came in -his father’s sight, and to return the other’s scant bows with equal -curtness. - -Meantime other occupations and interests than the affairs of the mess -room were busying him. The ground was now too hard for digging, but the -fencing lessons still went on, as Hugh’s bruised face and aching body -often testified. He had also come once more, at a hint of an invitation -from Turner, to take his place in the ranks and go through whatever -exercises the troop was put to. Try as he would, though, a little -bitterness still came into his heart at sight of Frank, carrying the red -and gold cornet, so he was happier when, formal drill over, he could -ride away whither he listed on Bayard. - -When rapier and horse both failed of interest, Hugh had recourse to John -Ridydale, whose quarters in a by-street he had speedily discovered. With -small coaxing he persuaded the corporal to drill him in handling pistol -and carabine, an exercise which involved the shooting off of an amazing -quantity of his Majesty’s powder and ball at practice marks in the -fields of the west suburbs. Hugh, after peppering away bravely, came -home in great enthusiasm to Strangwayes, who laughed a little, and -finally remarked one day, “And do but think, too, how that honest -corporal will go singing your perfections to Captain Gwyeth.” Whereat -Hugh grew thoughtful, and somewhat curtailed his shooting trips. - -After that, especially as fouler weather closed in, he exercised much in -Turner’s troop stable, where Frank kept a wooden horse for vaulting, -which he took great profit in seeing Hugh use. “’Tis such a pleasure to -look on animation of a cold morning,” young Pleydall remarked one day, -as he stood shivering in his cloak. “But do you get enjoyment of it?” - -Hugh, who sat in his shirt-sleeves swinging his legs on the back of the -horse, merely laughed and drew his left hand up and down his spare, -sinewy right arm. He had grown a little that winter, and he was -beginning also to learn the power that was latent in each muscle. Just -now he was thinking to himself that if it ever came again to rough and -tumble hand-grips with Peregrine Oldesworth, such as they had had in the -days at Everscombe, his cousin would not be quite so sure of the -mastery. - -Aside from the fact that he was still an uncommissioned volunteer, -Hugh’s only quarrel with his busy life that winter was that he saw -little of Dick Strangwayes. His friend’s chamber and purse were at his -disposal, but his time Strangwayes himself was not master of; not only -did his duties in the troop require him, but he had in the city and in -the colleges many friends to whom he gave much of himself. Hugh valued -the more the moments he had with his comrade at their chamber, and, for -the rest, sought himself companionship where he could. Frank, too, had -associates of his own, for whom Hugh had no great affection, so as a -last choice he resorted to George Allestree, who showed his friendship -by introducing him to all the taverns and ordinaries in the city. It was -Allestree, too, who, when he found Hugh took in great seriousness his -intention of becoming a soldier, unearthed a fat book, “The Soldier’s -Grammar and Accidence,” by one Gervase Markham, and told the boy he -would get from that all the theory of war he wanted. “I’ll read it -speedily and return it to you, George,” Hugh said gratefully. - -“Prithee, don’t hurry yourself,” Allestree answered quickly. “Ten years -hence is quite soon enough for my needs.” - -Indeed, Hugh did not find Gervase Markham exciting reading, but, to the -silent enjoyment of Strangwayes, he dutifully labored through his pages. -He was hard at work on Markham one morning, with his chin on one fist -and his elbow on the table. Only his eyes were not on the book, but -ranging out at the casement, for it was in early February and the sky -was blue, and Hugh was thinking how the buds would be bursting soon on -the beeches in the park at Everscombe. - -“Did you note the Worcestershire parson who sat at our table last -night?” suddenly spoke Strangwayes, who was shaving at the little mirror -between the windows. - -“Frank said he was an old tutor whom Sir William held in much respect,” -Hugh answered, bringing his gaze back to the room. - -“Well, he was set next Captain Gwyeth, and I was the other side, so I -enjoyed their discourse. It seems the parson was much attracted by you.” -Strangwayes tipped his head on one side while he scraped the razor along -his cheek, and spoke disjointedly. “Something, either the way you thrust -up that square chin of yours, or your pretty habit of not speaking to -your elders unless they address you,—except in my case, for you -constantly fail in respect to me,—well, you much pleased the gentleman, -so he asked the captain your name. And the captain told him. ‘Your son, -sir?’ says he, and falls to congratulating the captain on your fine -bearing and—nay, I’ll spare you. But I’m thinking Captain Gwyeth did not -relish his supper.” There was an instant’s pause while Strangwayes, with -his head thrown back, shaved warily beneath his chin; then he laid down -the razor and faced about. “Will you believe it, Hugh?” he said, in -something between jest and seriousness, “I’m thinking if you should go -very humbly, hat in hand, to the captain and say, ‘Sir, I bore myself -very frowardly and peevishly toward you, but now I am ready to submit -me,’ I’m thinking he would rate you soundly and—henceforth maintain you -himself.” - -“Doubtless he will,—when I go unto him so,” Hugh said shortly. - -Strangwayes laughed a little, then fell to talking of indifferent -matters, while he put on his coat and fastened his belt. “I saw Phil -Bellasis in the city yesterday,” he ended. “Perhaps to even matters he’s -looking for Captain Gwyeth now.” - -“I should think one lesson would suffice for him,” Hugh replied; and -then, as Dick tramped away, turned his attention again to Gervase -Markham. - -But reading or any serious pursuit was out of the question on those blue -spring days in the midst of winter. There was near a week of such -weather, in which poor Gervase was left to gather dust on the -chimney-piece, and Monsieur de Sévérac expostulated at Hugh’s -inattention. The boy’s heart was idling out in the open air, and his -body must needs follow. He galloped Bayard round about the city till he -knew the roads to weariness, and then, descending upon George Allestree, -he dragged him out to tramp in the slushy remnants of the last snow. - -“We’ll even up scores now,” Allestree said one afternoon. “You’ve haled -me through the mire, which I loathe, and now I’ll make you sup in the -city with me, which I know you abhor.” - -So it was that in the evening Hugh found himself blinking sleepily in a -brightly lighted room above a city ordinary, and roused up only at the -click of the dice. At one of the small tables Allestree and Lieutenant -Seymour, who had joined them, were deep in play, so Hugh got up and -stood watching them. In spite of all urgings he did not play himself; -the forty-five shillings he brought from Edgehill had lasted him well -for spending money, but he had none to squander on the dice. - -He looked up to the door as several newcomers entered,—civilians, from -their lack of any regimental badge. “Why, is’t not Bellasis yonder?” -Seymour asked, dicebox in hand. - -“Hm,” grunted Allestree. “Throw.” - -Hugh glanced curiously at the men, who had placed themselves at the next -table. One that sat on the farther side—a sallow, long-legged fellow of -thirty—he held to be Bellasis; meeting the man’s eyes, his thoughts went -back to the day of Edgehill, when Bellasis had nearly ridden down Frank, -and he felt sure of the identification. Then he turned to watch -Allestree’s play; how many throws had passed he did not know, when, -hearing some one speak near by, he listened carelessly. - -“Oh, you do not know him, then?” a curt, incisive voice reached him. -“Well, ’tis no wonder. The puppy was whelped in a gutter.” - -Hugh felt a hot prickling clear to the back of his neck; but, although -his whole attention was now riveted to those behind him, he did not -turn. - -“Yes, groom to a gang of common foot soldiers. A fellow of the name of -Strangwayes took him thence in charity and employed him as body -servant.” - -“I stake you ten shillings,” said Allestree, reaching well across the -table. - -“I take it,” answered Seymour. - -Hugh leaned a little forward with his clinched hands resting on the -table, and listened, not to them, but to Philip Bellasis. - -“Pshaw! how would you have it?” the scornful voice went on. “’Tis bad -blood there. Now Alan Gwyeth—” - -Hugh swung round on his heel; the candles dazzled up and down before -him, but he could make out Bellasis, resting his chin on one hand as he -sat, and speaking straight at him: “Alan Gwyeth, you’ll remember, was -but a broken German cutthroat, who lost his commission here for -cowardice—” - -“Sit down, Hugh!” Allestree cried. - -Hugh could feel Allestree’s grasp tighten on his arm, but, shaking him -off, he walked across to the table where Bellasis sat. The room was very -still, and in the silence his voice sounded husky and low. “You spoke of -Alan Gwyeth,” he began slowly. “When you call him a coward, I tell you -you lie in your throat!” - -Then he leaned across the table and smote Bellasis on the mouth. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - IN THE FIELDS TOWARD OSNEY ABBEY - - -It was dark in the passage outside the door, and Hugh fumbled stupidly -to find the latch. Inside two patches of moonlight, checkered like the -diamond panes of the windows, lay on the floor. Hugh stood staring at -them dully a moment before he spoke, “Dick.” - -“Well?” came from the black corner where the bed stood; it was -Strangwayes’ assertion that he always slept with one eye and one ear -alert. - -Hugh stepped over to the bedside. “I have met with Philip Bellasis,” he -began quickly, as if he had a lesson he knew must be repeated. “He -slandered my father. I gave him the lie. We are to fight with rapiers -to-morrow at twilight in the fields toward Osney Abbey.” - -Strangwayes was sitting upright in bed now. “You are to fight Bellasis?” -he repeated. - -Hugh nodded. “Have you the time to come out to the field with me, Dick? -George offered, but I’d rather—” - -“Did George Allestree suffer you enter on such a quarrel?” There was a -sharp, ringing quality in Strangwayes’ voice Hugh had seldom heard. - -“Nay, ’tis no fault of George,” he answered quickly, and detailed all -that had befallen at the ordinary. - -Strangwayes dropped back on his elbow. “Hugh, you fool, you babe!” he -broke out, still with that odd quality in his voice. “That scoundrel -trapped you deliberately; he durst not meet your father again; he tried -to trap you, and you suffered him!” - -“I could do nothing else,” Hugh answered. - -“Well, get to bed now,” Strangwayes said in his kindest tone. “You must -have all the rest you can before you go to spit our friend Philip.” - -Lying down obediently, Hugh stared at the moonlight creeping along the -floor, and listened to the watch that paced the street below. -Strangwayes at his side breathed uneasily and once or twice turned -somewhat; but Hugh lay quiet till his opened eyes ached and were heavy, -and he slept a sleep full of dreams. - -When he came broad awake again there was chilly daylight in the room, -and Strangwayes was up and half dressed. “What sort of day is it?” Hugh -asked. - -“A gray day,” Dick answered cheerily. “’Tis good for your work. There’ll -be no sun to dazzle either of you.” - -Hugh got up, and in the midst of drawing on his clothes glanced at -Dick’s watch, where he saw it was past their rising hour. “Is this the -way you pamper a fighter, as if I were one of Butler’s gamecocks?” he -asked. - -“You were sleeping well,” Strangwayes answered; “’twere pity to wake -you. I’ll fetch some breakfast and we’ll eat together here.” - -“You can get food from the shop below; you’ve no need of your hat and -cloak. Where are you going, Dick?” - -Strangwayes hesitated an instant while he drew his cloak about him, then -replied, “I am going to your father.” - -“You shall not!” Hugh cried, and, crossing to the door, set his back -against it. - -“Assuredly I shall,” Strangwayes answered. “The matter has gone beyond -jest.” - -“He will call me a snivelling coward,” Hugh pleaded; “he will say I made -a mash of it and then came whimpering to him.” - -“Let him,” Strangwayes interrupted, “’tis his quarrel and he should -manage it himself. Why did you ever thrust in?” - -“I know not,” Hugh answered. “Only he is my father. And he is no coward. -They lied about him in that. And he was not there to reply. I had to -come in.” - -“Well, he can come in now,” Strangwayes retorted, and strode over to the -door. - -Hugh thrust up one arm against his friend’s chest. “You will not tell -him?” he begged. “I know you can put me aside, Dick; you’re the -stronger. But prithee, do not use me thus. He despises me so already. -I’d liefer Bellasis killed me twice over. You won’t speak a word to him, -Dick?” - -“No, I won’t speak to him, Hugh,” Strangwayes answered soothingly. -“Come, come, you’re foolish as a girl. Go get on your coat, and be ready -to eat a full breakfast.” He put Hugh aside with one arm about his -shoulders, and went out of the room. - -When Hugh had finished dressing he opened the casement and leaned out a -little into the raw morning air; the chilly wind seemed to brush away -something of the heaviness of his unrefreshing sleep. Down in the street -below he saw men passing by, and a townswoman in a scarlet hood that -showed bright against the muddy road and dark houses. Across the way he -saw Major Bludsworth come leisurely down the steps from Sir William’s -quarters, and presently he saw a trooper, lumbering briskly up the -stairs, disappear inside the house. - -Just then a kick upon the door made him turn in time to see Strangwayes, -keeping the door braced open with one foot, come sidewise through the -narrow aperture. In one hand he held two mugs of ale and in the other a -pasty, which Hugh had the wit to catch before it fell to the floor. “Ay, -treat it reverently,” Dick said, “’tis mutton, and age has ever -commanded reverence. Part of the ale has gone up my sleeve, but the rest -is warranted of a good headiness.” - -After he had thrown off his cloak the two set them down at the table -with the pasty and the ale between them, and drew out their knives. -Strangwayes scored a line across the middle of the mutton pie. “Now each -man falls to,” he ordered, “and he who works the greatest havoc on his -side gets the mug that is full, while the other must content him with -the scant measure. Now, then, charge for England and St. George!” - -They were well at work, Hugh eating dutifully and Dick both eating and -setting forth an interminable tale of a fat citizen’s wife he had -accosted in the bakeshop, when there sounded a quick stamping on the -stairs. “I’ll wager ’tis the popinjay,” said Strangwayes, pausing with -his knife suspended. - -Right on the word Frank Pleydall burst into the room. “Is it true you’re -to fight?” he cried. - -“A guess near the truth,” answered Strangwayes. “Draw up and share with -us.” - -“I’ve eaten breakfast. They were talking of the duel there at the table. -So you’re to fight Bellasis, Hugh? Aren’t you afraid?” - -The full mug of ale suddenly went crashing and slopping to the floor. -“If I were the Creator and had men to make,” said Strangwayes, down on -his knees among the fragments, “I’d make men without elbows, at least -without such elbows as mine. Come aid me, you lazy fellow.” - -Hugh obediently began mopping up the spilt ale, but Strangwayes did not -stay to help him. He was speaking with Frank over by the window, and -Hugh just caught something like, “If you don’t hold your foolish tongue, -I’ll cuff your head off.” - -In any case, when Hugh rose to his feet he found Frank very subdued. -“’Twas my father sent me hither,” he began, with a little trace of -sullenness. “He said if you really had it in mind to fight, you were -best slip out of the town early. The matter has got abroad, and the -provost may send to apprehend you just for accepting the challenge.” - -“Then we’ll disappoint the provost,” said Strangwayes. “I’ve sent to the -stable already to have our horses brought round. Clap into your boots, -Hugh, but bring your shoes along. You can’t fight with a ton of leather -about your heels.” - -“Is there aught I can lend you, Hugh?” asked Frank, studying his friend -with interested eyes. - -“I’m well enough,” Hugh answered cheerfully. “Dick is going to let me -use his rapier.” - -“Can’t I come out to the field with you?” Frank begged. “Oh, I’ll not -speak a word, Dick, and I’ll do whatever you may tell me.” - -“If a second man came it would have to be Allestree,” answered -Strangwayes. “Better go back to quarters now, Frank. Tell Sir William we -thank him for his warning, and I have taken a day’s leave of absence.” - -But as Strangwayes was edging him toward the door Frank dodged by him -and ran back to Hugh. “Good luck to you,” he said, putting his arms -round Hugh and kissing him. “And—and God keep you.” - -Then he clattered out and down the stairs, and Hugh, for a moment, -neither looked at Dick nor spoke. - -He was drawing on his cloak, still with his back toward Strangwayes, who -stood by the window, when his friend struck in gayly: “In good time, -here are the horses. Come along, now.” Thus Hugh was hurried out at the -door, with time only for a single backward glance at the little crowded -chamber, and barely an instant in which to ask himself, would he ever -look upon that room again? - -At the foot of the first flight of stairs they met Turner, recognizable -by his slim figure, though the corridor was too dark for them to -distinguish his face. “Going out to the field, eh, Gwyeth?” he asked, -thrusting out his hand. “Well, success to you, lad, good success.” He -shook hands a second time with a strong pressure that lingered on Hugh’s -fingers till after they were mounted and off. - -Under foot the mud and slush were heavy, but the horses kept up a -tolerable pace, which Hugh, unknown to himself, was setting for them. A -feverish desire to be moving quickly was upon him, and with it a dread -of being silent. He laughed and chatted indifferently of whatever caught -his eye upon the western road till he soon had Strangwayes talking back -glibly. “We’ll dine at an alehouse called the ‘Sceptre,’” Dick rattled -on. “I know it well of old. I used to have a score as long as my arm -chalked on the door. There’s a very pretty bowling green behind the -house. Which explains my long score. When the spring comes I must have -you out thither and teach you to bowl. ’Tis good for the muscles of the -arm, let alone the exhilaration of the spirits.” - -It was mid-morning when they drew rein before the much belauded -alehouse, a low gray building, in a field somewhat apart from the -surrounding cottages, with tall poplars in a row on either side that -made it seem the more remote. The short-breathed host and his staid, -gray-headed drawer had had acquaintance with Strangwayes as late as that -winter, to judge by the warmth of their greeting. They had the horses to -the stable at once, and the gentlemen to the big front chamber of the -upper story, where a good fire was started, a cloth laid, and all made -comfortable. “We’ll not dine till one o’clock,” Strangwayes ordered. “If -you hear scuffling before then be not dismayed; we may try some sword -practice. You understand, eh, Martin?” - -The sober drawer showed sparks of interest. “Be you to fight, Master -Strangwayes?” he asked. - -“This gentleman is, this afternoon. Now keep a quiet tongue, Martin, as -you always do.” He slipped a piece of money into the drawer’s hand, and -the man departed slowly, with his gaze on Hugh. - -“Now make yourself at ease,” Strangwayes bade. “Or will you try a little -rapier practice to limber your muscles?” - -Hugh was ready enough, so Strangwayes procured from the host a pair of -blunted rapiers with which they fell to fencing. Hugh watched Dick’s -sword-hand and did his best, but again and again the point slipped past -his blade; there seemed no suppleness in his wrist nor spring in his -body, and when he tried desperately to retort faster he laid himself -open to his adversary. In the end, as he attempted a vigorous thrust in -quarte, his foot slipped so he only saved himself by catching at the -table. As he recovered himself he looked at Dick, and saw his face was -of an appalling soberness. “You’ve a steady enough hand, Hugh,” he began -hastily. “Only you must quicken your thrusts somewhat. No, don’t try any -more; you’ll only spend yourself needlessly.” - -Hugh handed back his weapon, and made a great work of putting on his -coat again. But presently it would out. “My father is considerable of a -swordsman, is he not?” he began. - -“He has that reputation,” Strangwayes answered dryly. - -“Yet he did not contrive more than to wound Bellasis.” - -“I doubt if he put his whole skill into the business,” Strangwayes said -quickly. “Come, Hugh, try a hand at primero with me,—unless you fear I -worst you there.” - -He drew the cards from his pocket, and they sat down to the table by the -fire. How many games they played Hugh did not heed; he dealt recklessly -and talked and laughed his loudest; sometimes he won of Strangwayes, -sometimes he lost, but it all mattered nothing. He was in the thick of a -boisterous exposition of the merits of the hand he held, when some one -knocked at the door. “Come!” Strangwayes cried eagerly, and sprang to -his feet. - -The door was pushed open, and Ridydale, spattered to the thighs, walked -in. “A letter for you, sir, from Colonel Gwyeth,” he said, crossing to -Hugh. “The colonel lay from his quarters yesternight, and came not back -till late this morning.” - -This last was spoken more to Strangwayes than to Hugh, but the boy did -not heed. He was tearing open the letter with fingers that shook with -impatience. It was very brief, he saw at first glance; then he read:— - -WORTHY SIR: - -For something like forty years I have contrived unaided to keep my honor -and my reputation clear. By the grace of Heaven I hope to do so for -forty years longer, still without a boy’s assistance. Quit at once this -absurd quarrel you have entered on. Take yourself back to your quarters. -I shall myself deal with Master Bellasis. - - Your obedient servant, - - ALAN GWYETH. - -Hugh read the paper over once more, slowly, then passed it to Dick. -“That is what he writes me,” he said without passion, and getting up -went to fetch a standish and paper from an open cupboard in one corner -of the room. - -He placed them on the table as Strangwayes looked up from finishing the -letter. He, too, said nothing, but his mouth was set in a hard line -under his mustache. “I’ll write an answer,” Hugh said quietly, as he -seated himself. - -“Will you not ride back to the city with me, sir?” Ridydale put in -eagerly. - -Hugh was silent a moment while he adjusted his paper and pen, then -replied: “I am not coming to the city with you. Moreover, Corporal -Ridydale, if you ever again mention unto me one word of Captain Gwyeth, -I’ll have no more dealings with you.” - -Then he turned resolutely to his task and wrote his answer, slowly, for -he was an unhandy penman, and he wished the letter to be quite dignified -in neatness. - -WORTHY SIR: - -When we parted at Shrewsbury perhaps you may remember I said to you that -you had no right to lay a command upon me. Since that time you have done -naught to get you the right; by your will I am no son of yours. Yet so -long as I bear the name of Gwyeth it is my part to defend that name from -any slander. Therefore I did enter on a quarrel with the one who defamed -my family. The quarrel is now mine and I shall pursue it to the end. -Though I have been flogged by your troopers, I have some notion of what -becomes a gentleman of honor. Such a gentleman as my mother would wish -me to be does not suffer another to undertake his defence. - - Your obedient servant, - - HUGH GWYETH. - -He chose his words deliberately; it was amazing how ready they were to -his hand, now that he had come to the realization that Alan Gwyeth had -used him with brutal unjustness. - -He folded the paper carefully. “Here, take it, Ridydale,” he ordered. -“But remember, I’ve no quarrel with you, Corporal. You have been a good -friend to me, and I’d still keep you so. Only never another mention of -Captain Gwyeth.” - -Ridydale hesitated a moment with the letter in his hand before he broke -out: “Tell you what, Master Hugh, I’ll send this by another messenger. -I’m going to rest here till the fight’s over. You may want me.” - -“That’s well,” Strangwayes said promptly. - -After Ridydale had left them, Dick ordered up dinner, and they tried to -talk over it as before. Strangwayes made out fairly, but a numb silence -was on Hugh; in the bracing anger of a few moments before his resolution -seemed all to have vanished and left him spiritless. He could not help -looking to the window to see what time of day it was, and involuntarily -he interrupted Strangwayes with a question as to how soon they should -start for the field. “Not for a couple of hours,” the other replied. -“’Tis a bit of a walk; we’ll take supper here afterward—” - -With a sudden gesture Hugh pushed by his plate and swung about with his -head hidden against the back of his chair. For of a sudden there came -sweeping upon him overpoweringly the realization he had been battling -off all the morning: this was the last meal he might ever eat. - -He got to his feet unsteadily and walked to the door; the scrape of a -chair told him Strangwayes had risen. “Don’t!” Hugh cried. “I want to be -alone.” - -Somehow he felt his way down a flight of backstairs, and pushing open a -side door stumbled out into the air. There was a level stretch of pashy -bowling green down which he splashed his way. But press forward as he -would, he knew he could not run from what he had bound himself to, so, -where the green ended at the hedge, he flung himself down on a wet bench -and sat with his head in his hands. In one of the bare poplars a snow -bird was chirruping; over toward the stable he could hear a man calling -and a horse stamp. He dropped his head on his knees and stared dumbly at -the trodden mud between his feet. For he knew now there was nothing to -help him, even Dick’s friendship and affection were of no avail; there -was only himself to rely on. Once he thought of God, but the God the -Oldesworths had taught him was distant and very stern; He would never -take pity on a duellist, even if he cried to Him. So Hugh, with his head -bowed down, wrestled through the struggle alone, and little by little -forced himself to accept with a soldier’s resignation the fate that -should take from him the joy of battle, and of friendship, and of life -that summed up all joys. - -When he rose his face was quite steady, though he made no pretence to -the cheerfulness he had kept up that morning. Walking briskly back to -the house, he made his way to their chamber, where he found Strangwayes -pacing up and down. Hugh went to him and put a hand on his shoulder. -“Let’s not try to pretend about it any more, Dick,” he said simply. -“Bellasis has handled a rapier for years where I’ve used it but weeks. -There is no hope for me. Frankly, is there? On your honor, Dick.” - -“There is this hope,” Strangwayes answered, after an instant. “It may be -he will content himself with disabling you, and then—he will force you -to crave his pardon.” - -“The other way suits me better,” Hugh said quietly. - -“You can only do your best,” Strangwayes replied. “He may be careless. -Be ready to use every opportunity.” - -“I will,” Hugh nodded, and then, sitting down by the fire, he beckoned -his friend to sit beside him. “I take it, time’s short,” he began, “so I -want to tell you, Dick, you’re to take Bayard and keep him, and be very -kind to him, only I know you’ll be that.” - -Strangwayes reached out his arm; the two griped hands, and sat so. - -“Give my sword to Frank,” Hugh went on, “and give Ned Griffith back his -red sash. Ridydale can have my spurs. Then there’s six shillings I’ve -here; I want a trooper named Robert Saxon in Gwyeth’s company to have -them; he’ll be sorry and drunk at once. Give my duty to Captain Turner -and Sir William, and commend me to George Allestree.” He paused a -moment, then resumed: “There’s a girl at Everscombe Manor, Lois Campion; -we were playfellows then. She has not writ me since, but I’d like her to -know that I held her in remembrance. I’d fain send my duty to my -Grandfather Oldesworth, too, but I doubt if he’d accept of it.” - -“I’ll do all as you bid,” Strangwayes answered. “God! if I could but -fight that coward for you.” - -After that outburst they sat side by side without speaking, while the -quick moments slipped by, till at last Strangwayes rose unwillingly to -his feet. “We must start now,” he said, so Hugh put on his cloak, and -arm in arm they went out from the house. - -At the door Ridydale saluted them, then fell into step behind them, and -in such order they splashed down the bowling green. Through a gap in the -hedge they entered a field where some patches of snow still lingered in -the hollows. Beyond they passed through a copse of naked trees, and so -across a dry ditch entered a level piece of open ground. At the farther -end two men stood waiting. “Faith, I had judged you meant to shirk your -hour,” cried the taller of the two in a sharp, high voice. - -“Close of twilight is a rather loose appointment, Master Bellasis,” -Strangwayes answered curtly. - -“And you fetched a third man, did you? Two to one—” - -“Maybe you would wish the city guard to come upon you with blades in -your hands?” Strangwayes interrupted. “I have brought a sure man to -watch the road. But if you object—” - -“Oh, by no means,” laughed Bellasis. “And ’tis well you brought him. -’Twill need two of you to convey your gentleman from the field.” - -“In any case I shall have legs left to walk back to the field and find -you,” Strangwayes retorted, with his nostrils drawn thin. “Strip off -your coat, Hugh. Take your place beyond the bushes there, Ridydale.” - -Hugh was glad that Dick unfastened his coat for him; for a sick instant -the control he had acquired of himself seemed slipping away. But it was -only an instant, and then, grasping his rapier firmly, he had stood up -stiffly in the place they bade him stand. In the distance, against the -darkening twilight, he could see the bare trees and the towers of Osney -Abbey; then his eyes descended to Bellasis’ keen sallow face, and then -they dropped to the man’s bony sword-hand, and he saw nothing else. - -Some one said, “Now!” and the rapiers crossed, how, he scarcely knew. He -heard the quick click of the blades, and with it came a sudden flash of -pain in his right thigh; he thrust desperately at Bellasis’ shoulder, -but his point went wide. - -“That shall quit the blow you struck me,” his adversary spoke, softly, -as the blades clicked again. - -Hugh shifted his body, stiffly, for his right leg felt strangely numb, -yet with his utmost skill he contrived to put by two thrusts; all his -attention was riveted to the blades, but some inner consciousness was -telling him that Bellasis was only feinting carelessly, and had not yet -shown his strength. His very despair drove him forward in a useless -thrust, and at that the other’s rapier seemed in his eyes, and he felt -something warm on his left cheek. - -“And there’s for your father’s blow,” said Bellasis, in a low voice. -“Get your breath now for the last bout.” - -There was thrust and parry for what seemed endless hours; click of -blade, desperate effort that set Hugh, mad with his helplessness, -panting to the point of sobbing. Then, of a sudden, as he made an -instinctive swerve to the right, there came a rasping sound of tearing -cloth, a deathly agony swept through his body. But he saw Bellasis -leaning toward him with body all exposed, and, springing forward, with -all the strength in him he thrust home the rapier. - -The hilt of the rapier slipped from his hand. Bellasis’ shirt and face -showed white on the muddy ground at his feet. All the rest was blackness -and pain. A second thrill pierced through his side. Some one’s arm was -about him, and Dick’s voice cried, “Hugh, Hugh!” with an agony in it he -marvelled at. He could feel Strangwayes’ fingers tearing open his shirt, -a cloth pressing in upon his side. “Ha’ done!” he gasped out, clutching -Dick round the neck. - -Right upon that, somewhere very far distant, he heard Ridydale’s voice: -“Off with you! The guard’s upon us!” - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - UNDER THE KING’S DISPLEASURE - - -A racking agony of being borne joltingly along Hugh remembered dimly, -but now there came a moment of fuller consciousness. He knew it was -black all about where he lay, the ground beneath him felt wet, and his -face was jammed into something so cold it made his cheek ache. With a -helpless catching of the breath he tried to shift his position. “Hush, -hush!” Strangwayes’ voice sounded right at his ear, and Strangwayes’ arm -pressed him close. - -Smothering the cry of pain, Hugh listened breathlessly; somewhere far -above him people must be moving, for he heard the snap of boughs and -men’s voices calling, “Have you found a trace?” - -“Nay, they bore to the roadway, I’ll wager.” - -“Have ye searched the ditch?” - -On that, nearer and louder than before, came more trampling and -crashing. Hugh could not hear Strangwayes breathe, but he felt -Strangwayes’ arm draw more tensely about him, and, when he turned his -head painfully, knew it was Strangwayes’ hand pressed down on his mouth. -Now as he lay he could see a shred of dark sky with the outline of -branches thick woven against it. Then the sight of the sky went blurring -out from before his eyes, and the crackling of the bushes grew fainter -till that and all other sound ceased for him. - -A sense that he had been long in a region of blankness, then once more -he heard voices, but now they were beside him and he knew who spoke. -“Durst you venture forth, sir?” - -“I dare not risk it, Corporal. Yet if we stay in this slough— You’re -holding him as clear of the wet as you can?” - -“What else should I be doing, sir?” Ridydale’s voice came snappishly. - -“You are here, Dick?” Hugh tried to say, but it took an instant to force -out even a weak whisper. - -A quick movement and Strangwayes bent over him; Hugh concluded vaguely -that he was resting across the knees of his two friends with his head -upon Dick’s arm. “How is it with you now, lad?” Strangwayes asked -eagerly. - -“Well enough. Only my face aches,” Hugh admitted in a whisper that -pained him. - -“I could have forgiven him, had he killed the lad clean and quick,” -Strangwayes broke out; “but to hack him into pieces thus!” - -“Hell gnaw him for it!” Ridydale growled back. - -With neither wit nor strength to reason out of what or whom they spoke, -Hugh lay quiet and unresisting in the arms of his companions. He -wondered if their coats were wrapped about him, he felt so warm. Then, -after a space where even wonder was blotted out, he felt his shirt -thrust open again and the air cold on his breast. “Give me those other -napkins,” Strangwayes’ voice sounded hard and colorless; “he is bleeding -again.” - -Something like a groan burst from Ridydale. “May we not venture it now, -sir?” he begged. - -“In God’s name, yes!” Strangwayes cried. - -Hugh felt himself lifted up, and with the movement came a throbbing pain -through all his body, and then a deathly faintness, that left him no -strength to cry out. Through it all he caught a glimpse of a blackness -above him that must be the night sky, and then it was all a blackness, -where he could not even feel Dick’s touch. - -For one instant of agony the light returned to him. It seemed they must -have torn open all his wounds, and they would not spare him, even when -at last he cried for mercy. Strangwayes’ face came out of the blur of -light, and Strangwayes griped hold of his hand, but gave him no other -comfort. Then the light went out, and for a space Hugh had only ugly -dreams. - -It was of a morning that he opened his eyes again upon a sane and -remembered world. Somewhere near crackled a fire, the light of which -dazzled him so he blinked and closed his eyes once more. Gradually he -became aware that he was warm, and lay on something soft. He felt no -pain at all now, and he could not understand why they had so fettered -his body with bandages. Presently he summoned energy to open his eyes a -second time, and, with long intervals of dozing, lay staring about him: -a small, bare room he did not recollect to have seen before; one high, -narrow window, with a naked branch that seemed to cleave it from corner -to corner; a dancing fire that for a long time fascinated him. After -that he studied the blue coverlet that was flung over him, and then, -dragging out one arm, rested it upon the coverlet, and marvelled that -his wrist was grown so slender. - -Then from somewhere Strangwayes came and stood over him, just the same -as he had ever been, only now the lower part of his face was black with -a half-grown beard. “Do you know me, Hugh?” he asked, and for once there -was no laughter in his eyes. - -“Why, of course I know you,” Hugh replied, vexed at the folly of such a -question. - -Drawing up a stool, Strangwayes sat down beside him, but Hugh hardly -noted him for still gazing at that limp arm that did not seem to belong -to him. But presently he found that he could move it, if he took his -time, so with infinite pains he dragged his hand up to his face, and -felt a great welt of plaster upon one cheek. “What’s to do?” he asked -faintly. - -“A beauty mark you may keep with you,” Strangwayes said, with an effort -at his old gay tone, though his eyes were blinking fast. - -Hugh rested a time, then, with much patience, lifted his hand to his -head, and gave a gasp of consternation as he drew his uncertain fingers -across a stiff, prickly surface. “What have you done to me now?” he -cried. - -“Clipped you close. Do you think a fellow that gets him a fever can be -let play Cavalier?” - -“You cut my hair?” Hugh repeated. “And it was growing bravely. He’d a -had no need to call me Roundhead any more. I would not have used you -so.” He slipped his hand down over his eyes, and burst into a pitiful -sort of whimpering, he knew not why. - -“Be silent now!” Strangwayes cried, with a sharpness that made Hugh -quiet with pure amazement that his friend could use such a tone to him. -But after that Strangwayes put his pillow into shape, and, covering him -up, bade him sleep, with all his old kindness. - -After sleeping long and comfortably Hugh awoke to see a candle -flickering on the table, and the small window carefully hidden over with -a curtain. “Are you here, Dick?” he asked, and Strangwayes, rising from -before the fire, came to the side of his pallet. “Awake again, Hugh? -Come, don’t you think you could eat a bit?” - -"I know not," Hugh spoke with long pauses. “Why, perhaps I am hungry. I -thought something was amiss.” - -Strangwayes laughed, for no visible reason, and, presently fetching him -broth, fed him with slow spoonfuls. The food put enough life into Hugh -for him to ask at length, “Where are we?” - -“In a back chamber of the alehouse of the ‘Sceptre.’ There, question no -farther. Your duty now is but to eat and sleep.” - -For many hours Hugh obeyed that command unquestioningly, and pained -himself only to take the merest outer observation of what went on about -him. A small pompous man in black, who dressed his wounds and left -ill-tasting drugs came twice to the room; the drawer, Martin, came often -with food; and Strangwayes was there always, right at his bedside, -whenever he chose to call upon him. For the rest, there was the -crackling fire to watch, and the window. Once when he looked to it of a -morning he saw it thick with white frost, and Strangwayes, coming to the -pallet, flung a cloak over him as he lay. Hugh watched him an instant, -then broke out irrelevantly, “Dick, have I been very ill?” - -“Just a bit,” Strangwayes replied, in his dryest tone. - -“From the duel, was it not?” Hugh pursued; then suddenly: “Tell me, how -did it fare with Bellasis? Has he recovered before me?” - -“He is recovered,” Strangwayes answered, and hastened away to mend the -fire. - -But four and twenty hours later Hugh attacked his friend with a new -query: “Why does not Frank or George come to visit me now? I think I be -strong enough.” - -“Wait a time longer,” Strangwayes urged; so Hugh waited and pondered -much. For his head did not ache now whenever he tried to think, so he -went over all he remembered of the last days, and concluded on this and -that till he was ready to ask farther questions. - -The late cold that made the window white had somewhat abated, when for -the first time Strangwayes propped Hugh up in bed with two cushions -behind him and a cloak about his shoulders. “I want to ask you -something,” Hugh began then, soberly, “I am quite strong, you see. Now -tell me, Dick, did I not hurt Bellasis?” - -“Yes,” Strangwayes answered, setting his face grimly to the front. - -“Sorely?” Hugh urged. “Tell me, Dick.” - -“You must lie down again,” Strangwayes ordered; but as he was stretched -on his back Hugh caught his friend’s sleeve. “You must tell me,” he -repeated. “Dick, I did not—kill him?” - -In spite of all he could do Strangwayes’ face made reply, and Hugh, -after one look, turned himself to the wall. - -Presently Strangwayes’ arm was slipped under his neck. “You must not -grieve for that man,” he spoke anxiously. - -At that Hugh turned and put his arm round Dick as he knelt by the -pallet. “I was not grieving,” he said simply, “only I was sorry that -after all I could not be sorry for him.” Then, after a moment: “Tell me -all about it. Yes, now, I pray you, Dick.” - -Strangwayes looked at him, then settled himself a little more -comfortably on the floor by the pallet. “You remember the fight?” - -Hugh nodded. “But I cannot understand how I had the better of it.” - -“He gave it you,” Strangwayes answered. “He scorned you so he destroyed -himself. He fenced as if ’twere mere play, and his last thrust was not -clean. It took you beneath the small ribs, not a mortal thrust, and -there his rapier stayed hampered. And while his body was undefended, as -he strove to wrench his blade free, you ran him through the bowels. They -carried him off the field, I hear, but he was bleeding inside, and they -could do nothing for him. So ’twas well we came out from the hands of -the guard, for Lord Bellasis was mad with anger, and he has great -friends and influence with the king, so by next day the ways were laid -and they were seeking us to answer for his death.” - -“And you saved me from them,” Hugh said under his breath, while he tried -to hug Dick with one arm. - -“Faith, ’twas saving myself at the same time, and I near killed you in -the effort. Jack Ridydale and I caught you up on the alarm and plunged -into the ditch at the edge of the field—” - -“I remember,” Hugh interrupted. - -“So do I,” Strangwayes said, and tried to force a laugh. “Sure, ’twas -wet there. By the favor of fortune the watch passed over us, and we -fetched you to the ‘Sceptre’ and had in a close-mouthed physician. And I -was bravely frightened, Hugh, for there was no moving you hence, and -here we lay in the jaws of the enemy. No, no, you’re in no danger now. -For so soon as we were safe in the alehouse good old Ridydale made for -the stable, and the watch had not yet searched here, so the horses were -untouched. He got him on his own steed, took your Bayard and my Black -Boy by the bridles, and rode for the west as fast as spur could drive. -Toward dawn he faced about and trotted home again, the horses all -belathered and crestfallen, and, jogging along the road in such trim, he -was seized upon by the zealous patrol and haled into the city to answer -as to our whereabouts.” - -“They did not harm him?” Hugh asked anxiously. - -“Harm him? Nay, the old scoundrel was more than their match. He swore we -had posted all night, made a change of horses, and headed into the -enemy’s country to take ship out of the realm. They coaxed him and they -bullied him for three days, but the rascal lied with such liberality and -discretion that in the end they must release him. So the matter stands, -for some do truly believe we have got beyond seas, and my Lord Bellasis -has still a hope that we be somewhere in the country round about here. -And the most of the people, Hugh, have clean forgot about us by this.” - -“None know where we are? That is why none of the others have come -hither?” - -“No; ’tis that I wanted few to come drawing suspicions to us. Sir -William knows, and he was pleased to approve your conduct, Hugh, and -sent us supply of money by the trusty old drawer here. Ridydale durst -venture to us only once, for fear of being tracked. ’Twas when he was -new released and he had had no word how it was faring with you. So he -came and he brought news of Captain Gwyeth.” - -Hugh made no reply. - -“If you have the strength to hear it, I’d fain ease me of it,” -Strangwayes went on. “This is what he had done, Hugh: When he got my -word that man had forced a fight upon you because you were your father’s -son, and when I prayed him to meet the hacking cutthroat—Heaven forgive -me! Bellasis is dead now. Well, you know the answer Captain Gwyeth sent -you. Having shown his proud temper in that, he set out, not to join us -and intercept the man upon the field, but to seek him in the city. Now -Bellasis, like a wise man, had withdrawn himself on a suspicion of that, -so Alan Gwyeth did but meet Bellasis’ cousin, Herbert, who drew him into -a scuffle under the very shadow of the Castle. They were promptly put -under arrest therefor. Then the captain found the hour of the duel -coming on, and he laid by the heels for his folly, and then—” -Strangwayes paused, and tried to laugh himself into a less earnest tone. -“Well, Hugh, he prayed to see the officer of the watch, and conveyed -unto him full information of the place and time of the duel.” - -“Then ’tis he that is to thank for bringing the watch upon us?” - -“Yes, and for making us hale you into the ditch and near rack your poor -body to pieces. I swear the rough handling we had to give you had as -much share in bringing on the fever as your wounds. And as you lay in -the very heat of the fever came this fine proud message from him that -his will was to come unto you. And I wrote back unto him so he has not -come. But if you wish him, Hugh, I’ll—well, doubtless I can crave his -pardon, and then he will come to you.” - -“I do not wish to see him,” Hugh answered coldly. “What did you write -him, Dick?” - -“’Twas not just a temperate letter, I’m fearing. For your fever had run -four days, and there seemed no change save the worst change. Oh, well,” -Strangwayes laughed, “I wrote him that his cursed ugly pride had never -brought anything to you but disgrace and pain, and now he had killed you -he should leave you to me. I told him his blundering stupidity in -sending the watch would have wrecked your honor, had they come ten -minutes earlier, and now it had wrecked your life. And I told him he had -been no father to you while you lived, and he should not play that part -in your death. I said if he came hither I would bar the door in his -face. Truth, I must have been near mad to write so uncivilly, but—I had -been watching with you three nights, and I was worried for you, lad. So -he did not come. And you do not wish him to?” - -“No, never,” Hugh said, then lay silent so long that Strangwayes, -slipping his arm from beneath his head, had risen, when Hugh broke out, -“Dick, you must have sent him a message the day of the duel.” - -“Hm,” said Strangwayes, heading for the fireplace. - -“You promised me—” - -“Only not to speak to him,” the other put in hastily. “I did not. I -wrote him a letter there in the bakeshop, and sent it by a stray -trooper. Dear lad, I was trained for a lawyer. How could I resist a -quibble? You’re going to forgive me, Hugh.” - -“’Tis a very little fault in you, Dick,” Hugh answered. “Though if -another had done it—” - -“Well, I’ll never attempt to incline Captain Gwyeth to his duty again, -rest assured,” Strangwayes ended their talk earnestly. - -So, while he still had barely strength to lift his head from off the -pillow, Hugh came to full knowledge of how his affairs stood. He was -glad to be told the worst, not be played with like a child, yet the -realization of the desperate state to which the word and the blow at the -Oxford ordinary had reduced, not only his own fortunes, but those of his -friend, made his slow convalescence doubly hard to bear. Day followed -day, all alike, save that on some the fire was heaped high for warmth, -while on others, more frequently as time passed, the narrow window was -flung wide open, and a breath of spring-like air sweeping in made -confinement all the less endurable. Then Hugh fretted miserably, till he -looked at Dick, and thought what it must mean to a man to be pent up in -a sick room while he had all his limbs and strength at his command. For -Strangwayes never left him, save for a half-hour or so at night, when he -used to slip out by the back way and tramp about the bowling green, to -bring in with him so fine a breeziness that Hugh used to lie awake for -his coming. At first Strangwayes did not quit the chamber even for his -rest, but, wrapping his cloak about him, stretched himself across the -hearth, till Hugh, with gaining strength, assured him he could fare well -enough without constant watching, and begged him to get a room and a -bed. After that Hugh passed long, sleepless hours of the night in -loneliness, while through the little window he watched the varying -shades of the sky and the stars that had so many times looked back at -him. - -During the day the chief diversions were to eat, and to note how many -minutes more he contrived to sit up than on the preceding day. In the -intervals he and Dick played cards, till the pack was wofully thumbed, -or chess, which Hugh found easier, for he need only lie on his back and -look sidewise at the board. Later Dick unearthed the whole library of -the “Sceptre,” a fat “Palmerin of England,” whose “gallant history” he -patiently read aloud to Hugh, who did not find the story enlivening, but -got to appreciate Dick’s sarcastic comments. Still better he liked to -hear his friend talk, half nonsense, half truth, of the things he had -seen and done when he served in the Low Countries and made his stay in -Paris. “How should you like to go thither yourself?” Strangwayes asked -abruptly one March morning, when for the second time Hugh was sitting up -in a chair. - -“With you?” the boy asked quickly. - -“No, not with me now,” Strangwayes answered; “I cannot quit the kingdom, -Hugh, while there’s a blow to be struck. Even though I be a volunteer—” - -“Dick!” Hugh cried, “you’ve lost your commission through me?” - -“No, no, no,” Strangwayes said hastily. “Only ’twould be awkward to come -to the front and claim it while this duel is still remembered. Sir -William will always keep me a place in his regiment. And when you are -cured, ’tis my purpose to go into the North to fight. I’ll not be easily -recognized now my beard is grown, and I’ll put another name to me. There -in the North I may chance to do something that will bring us a pardon -for what we had a share in.” - -All of which Hugh only half heeded as he sat with his head in his hands. -For it was worse than the realization that he had killed a man to know -that he had wrought Dick’s fortunes such a terrible shock. - -Strangwayes said what he could that was generous, and ended with the old -proposition to send Hugh, so soon as he was recovered, into the Low -Countries, where he would be safe from all pursuit. But Hugh shook his -head. “I cannot, Dick; I’d rather be hanged here on English ground, or -whatever else they would do to me. Why, I could not speak their queer -language yonder. And you’ve pampered me so, I durst not venture out -among strangers again. I’ll do as you do, change my name, and volunteer -somewhere else.” - -It was at this time he made a resolution, which he had a chance to carry -out perhaps a week later, when Ridydale paid him a cautious visit. Sir -William’s regiment marched northward in two days, the corporal -explained, bound to garrison Tamworth, and he had thought it well to -come see Master Hugh ere he went, and bring him his accoutrements from -his quarters at Oxford. Hugh watched his chance till Dick had left them -alone, then prayed Ridydale get Bayard from Turner’s stable and sell -him. “I have been a heavy charge unto my friends, and am like to be -heavier,” he explained painfully. “And in any case I cannot keep the -horse, for he is known as mine, and might draw suspicion to me. He’s a -good beast and should fetch a fair price. Only try your best, Corporal, -to sell him unto some one will use him kindly.” - -Ridydale demurred, then yielded; and before he left Oxford, brought Hugh -five sovereigns, the purchase money. Then there was an explanation with -Strangwayes, who was downright angry, but finally laughed at himself. -“Only a fool would quarrel with such a remnant of a fellow as you look -now,” he concluded. - -Hugh felt the term was justified the first time he dragged on his -clothes, which seemed cut for a lad of vastly greater brawn, and, -contriving to hobble into the adjoining chamber, got sight of himself in -the glass. Eyes, mouth, and a raw scar sheer across his left cheek, -seemed all that was left of his face, and his close-cut hair added to -the unfamiliarity of his look. “Scars are good adornments for a -soldier,” he said bravely, but he tried in vain to find a complimentary -phrase for the painful stiffness that lingered in his thigh. - -By dint of stumbling about his chamber, however, the lameness wore off, -till he could walk with some surety of not falling against the -furniture; and then there came a night he never forgot, when Strangwayes -helped him carefully down the stairs, and, pacing slowly across the -bowling green, they sat down on a bench that Hugh remembered. It was a -clear spring evening, with the stars numerous and bright, and an earthy -smell in the soft air. Hugh felt the ground beneath his feet once more, -and stared at the poplars that still looked bare in the nighttime, while -his heart grew full at the thought that he was alive to enjoy the spring -and all the deeds that were yet to do. He spoke it all out, as he leaned -against Strangwayes, by saying: “I am well again now, Dick. When shall -we be off to the North?” - -“North? Not for you at present, lad,” Strangwayes replied. “You’re no -figure for a camp yet. So I am going to carry you to a farm called -Ashcroft, somewhat toward Warwickshire, where dwells a distant kinswoman -of Sir William Pleydall and of my mother. ’Tis a good, bluff widow, whom -I shall bid keep you well hidden, and see you go to bed betimes, and do -not run off to kill Roundheads till I give the word. When you have back -your strength again, you shall join me in Yorkshire, and we’ll go -a-soldiering together again.” - -For the next week Hugh felt he had something to look forward to, though -expectation made the days even more tedious. With long intervals of -rest, he furbished up his sword and spurs, and, when that interest -failed, spent much time in devising a name to assume till his peace was -made with his Majesty. Strangwayes had announced early that he meant to -go by the name of Henry Ramsden, and there was an end of it; but Hugh -had an unaccountable feeling that he did not wish to take any one of the -common names that men he knew had borne, and bestow it on a hunted -duellist. He finally ended by calling himself Edmund Burley, but it was -a long process of selection, and the choice was made only on the day he -left the “Sceptre.” - -They made their start about midnight, when the road was quiet, and the -houses in the fields beyond the alehouse were all black. Two horses were -fetched them at the side door, the drawer held a lantern half screened -with his hand as they mounted, and the host wished them God-speed in a -guarded, low voice. Then they paced softly into the highway and headed -northward under the starlight. At first Hugh sat straight, and would -gladly have talked with Dick to tell him how easy, after all, he found -the exercise. But Dick would have no speaking till almost cock-crow, -when they were riding through a stretch of lonely fields, and by then no -jauntiness was left in Hugh, only dull pain and faintness, so he had no -will to say anything except, “Thank Heaven!” when Strangwayes, fairly -lifting him off his horse, half carried him into a dwelling-place. - -There he spent the day, sleeping some and for the rest lying still as he -was bidden, till twilight came on and once more they got to saddle. A -little fine rain was sifting down now, and the cold wet on his face -refreshed Hugh somewhat, but even then, when they halted at last at the -gate of a lonely farm enclosure, he was drooping over his saddle-bow. He -noted of the house only that there was a green settle in the living -room, the arm of which was of just the right height to rest his head -upon, and the loud-voiced woman who had roused up to greet them held a -guttering candle so he was assured the dripping wax must soon burn her -fingers. - -After that he remembered Dick helped him to bed in a little upper -chamber; the sheets felt good, and he shut his eyes to keep out the -troublesome candlelight. “Rain or no, I’m going to push on for Sir -William’s house in Worcestershire,” Dick was saying. “You’re safe here -with Widow Flemyng, Hugh. And ere long I’ll have you with me again. God -keep you till then, old lad!” He bent down and kissed Hugh, who hugged -him with a sudden childish feeling that he could not let Dick go. - -So he turned over with his face in the pillow, broad awake now, and he -heard Dick’s boots creaking down the stairway. He lay listening alertly -for more, but he heard only the spatter of rain upon the window. - - - - - CHAPTER XV - THE LIFE OF EDMUND BURLEY - - -At one end of the bench outside the garden door of Ashcroft, Widow -Flemyng’s great black cat lay sunning himself; at the other end Hugh -Gwyeth sat hugging one knee, while he wondered drowsily which were the -lazier, he or the cat. In the alert blue spring weather the tips of -green things were bursting through the soft mould of the garden; the -birds were making a great ado in the trees; and in the field beyond the -hedge the widow’s man, Ralph, was ploughing, and whistling as he -ploughed. Only Master Hugh Gwyeth lingered idly on the garden bench and -meditatively handled the flabby muscles of his arm till he grew -impatient with himself. Three weeks and more he had been at Ashcroft, -yet this was all the strength he had gained or was likely to gain with -sitting still. He dragged the cat, heavy and reluctant, up from its nap, -and was trying to coax the creature to jump over his hands, which at -least required a little exertion, when Nancy, the serving-maid, came out -to potter about the garden. Spying him, she called: “Don’t ’ee vex poor -Gib, now. Better get thee into the kitchen; the mistress is at her -baking.” - -Hugh laughed, and, rising leisurely, made his way down the garden to the -rear door. Women were droll creatures, he reflected; his mother, of -course, had always treated him with tenderness, but why these strangers -should pamper him like a child, and concern themselves about his every -movement, was more than he could puzzle out. From the first Nancy had -made no end of commiserating him for the scar on his face, and even the -widow herself, for all her sharp ways, had been melted to pity, when she -came to examine his wardrobe. “Well, well, well! when did a woman put -hand to these shirts?” she had cried, whereat Hugh informed her -blushingly that ’twas his custom to have his shirts washed till they -grew too tattered to serve even under a buff jacket, and then he threw -them away. “You poor thriftless child!” sighed the widow, “sure, you’re -not fit to be sent to the wars.” So she mended his shirts and stockings, -and, when that way of showing her motherly care failed, brewed him -ill-tasting concoctions of herbs, which Hugh swallowed courteously, -though with inward protests against this expression of good-will. He was -far more grateful when her kindness finally took the form of cooking him -such food as he liked, and pressing him to eat at all times, for his -illness had left him with an alarming appetite, which without such -connivance could never have been decently satisfied. - -He halted now, as he had often done, with his elbows on the sill of the -opened window in the long kitchen, and took a sweeping survey of the -dressers and the fireplace and the brick oven. Just by the window stood -a table at which the Widow Flemyng, with her sleeves tucked up and her -broad face flushed, was rolling out pastry. “I marvel you’ve not been -here before,” she said gruffly, as she caught sight of him; “where have -you been all this morning now?” - -“Teasing the cat,” Hugh answered. “Before that I was down through the -meadow—” - -The widow paused with her rolling-pin suspended. “That meadow again? And -no doubt you wet your feet!” - -“On my word, good widow,” Hugh laughed, “my kinsfolk have trusted me -abroad without a nurse for several years now.” - -“The more fools they!” she replied, smacking the pastry smartly once -more. - -Profiting by the pause, Hugh reached one arm in at the window and helped -himself to a strip of pie-crust, all hot and newly baked, that lay -there; he might repress his early fondness for honey and jam, but crisp -pastry was still too great a temptation for him to resist. - -“That’s a right Roundhead trick to come thieving at a poor woman’s -window!” said the widow. - -“Was there never such a thing as a Cavalier thief?” Hugh suggested. - -“I never speak treason, sir. There do be some that say there is a -garrison yonder at Woodstead Manor that never was known to pay for what -it lives by, but I speak no ill of the king’s men, you’ll note.” - -Hugh had cause enough to note and remember the conversation a few days -later. Of a dull gray afternoon he had taken himself to his chamber, -dutifully to practise thrusts with his sword at a round mark on the -wainscot, an exercise which proved tedious, so he was glad enough when a -noise of horses stamping and men calling in the yard below gave him an -excuse for running to the window. At the front of the cottage nothing -was to be seen, so, flinging on his coat, he ran downstairs into the -kitchen, whence came the sound of high talk. Bursting into the room, he -found Nancy crouched by the fireplace, and Ralph skulking by her, while -at the door stood Widow Flemyng, arms akimbo, in hot discourse with a -cross-eyed trooper, who wore the king’s colors. - -“I tell you, it shall not be put up!” the man was blustering. “We’d -scarce set foot in your stable when your rascal would be breaking a -stave across Garrett’s head.” - -“And I tell you, you shall put up with it!” retorted the widow. “Do you -think to come plundering decent loyal bodies, you minching thieves? Not -a step do you stir into this house. Reach me hither the kettle, you -white-livered Ralph.” - -Hugh prudently got the kettle into his own hands, then presented himself -at the door with the query, “What’s amiss?” - -“Here are three rogues from Woodstead who seek to plunder the very -horses from my plough,” replied the widow, clapping hands on the kettle. -“Now come in if you dare, the pack of you!” - -But Hugh stayed her arm, while he looked out and got the situation. In -the open space between the rear door and the stable three horses drooped -their heads, and by them lingered two dragoons, one heavy and surly, the -other a thin-faced fellow, who, looking sharply at Hugh, nudged his -comrade. It seemed just an ordinary small foraging band, who were going -beyond their authority, so Hugh stepped out and confronted the -cross-eyed man with a stern, “What’s your warrant for this?” - -“King’s service, sir,” the other replied, gazing at him a little -doubtfully. - -“’Tis service that will profit you little if it come to your captain’s -ears,” Hugh answered. “There are none here but loyal people and friends -to the king. Best take advice and go back empty-handed. ’Twill be for -your good in the end.” - -Just there a hand was clapped heavily upon his collar; instinctively -Hugh was ducking to wrest himself clear, when the cross-eyed man, too, -caught him by the throat of his jacket, and, realizing the uselessness -of a struggle, the boy held himself quiet. “We’ll go back to Woodstead -right enough, sir,” spoke the thin-faced trooper, who had first seized -him. “But you’ll go with us, Master Gwyeth.” - -“My name is Edmund Burley,” Hugh replied stoutly, though the heart -seemed all at once to have gone out of his body. - -“Well, you’ve enough the look of the other gentleman for Lord Bellasis -to pay ten pound for the sight of your face. You can explain to him who -you are, sir,” scoffed the thin-faced man. “Fetch a horse from the -stable for him, Garrett.” - -After that, as in an ugly dream, matters went without Hugh’s agency. He -felt his arm ache in the hard grip of the cross-eyed man, which he had -no hope to shake off; he heard the widow in heated expostulation with -the thin-faced trooper, assuring him the gentleman had dwelt with her -near six months, and could not have had a hand in the mischief they -charged him with; he saw Nancy come out, all blubbering, to bring him -his hat, and he said, “Why, don’t cry over it, wench,” and wondered at -the dull tone of his voice. It seemed an interminable time, but at -length one of the plough horses was led out, all saddled, and, mounting -as they bade him, he rode away with them in the gray of the afternoon. -As they passed out from the yard he heard the door of Ashcroft slam, and -by that he knew the widow was much moved. - -Then, turning eastward, they trotted slowly across gray fields, a -trooper on either side Hugh’s horse, and he went as they guided. For he -took no heed to them, as he told himself that Dick Strangwayes was far -away in the North, Sir William busied at Tamworth, and in Oxford there -was not a friend to aid him. Already he seemed to feel the chill of the -cells in the old Castle at Oxford, and to see a room full of stern men -who bullied and frightened him; after that he thought to hear the cart -jolting beneath him across the stony streets, while the people ran and -pointed at him; and then he felt a rope about his throat. He tried -helplessly to battle off such thoughts, but they still pressed upon him -till his head was stupid with turning them over, and, listening -uncomprehendingly to the talk of those about him, he rode in a sort of -daze. - -The afternoon grew grayer and grayer, and was merging into twilight when -they rode through a poor village, beyond which, upon a barren swell of -highland, they came to a stockade flung around a small manor house. They -crossed a rough bridge over a moat, and so, keeping to the left of the -house, drew rein at length before a great stable. “Yon’s the captain, -now,” spoke the cross-eyed man, peering into the dark of the building. - -“Looking to the cocks, I’ll be bound,” muttered he of the sharp face. - -“What dog’s mischief have you been loitering about, you knaves?” came -from within the stable, and the voice was one Hugh remembered. - -“Captain Butler!” he cried, flinging himself from the saddle, and, -stumbling through the door, near embraced the big Irishman who came to -meet him. - -“Good faith, ’tis not—” Butler began. - -“I am Edmund Burley,” Hugh interrupted feverishly. “Sure, you remember -me, sir?” - -Butler pulled him outside, where the light was clearer, and after that -instant’s pause turned upon the troopers with a violent demand as to -what they meant. One replied, “’Tis he who killed Master Bellasis;” but -the captain cut him short with a volley of abuse, that they durst hale -thither an innocent man and a friend of his, too, and followed it with -threats of a flogging to them all and bluster and oaths, till the three -were cowed into a frightened silence. - -“Well, I’ll be easy with you this time, you rogues,” Butler resumed -after a moment, “for Master Burley is a merciful man, and I’m thinking -would be better pleased that you went free. And, faith, he bears so -little malice he wishes you all to drink his health.” Thus admonished, -Hugh pulled three shillings out of his pocket and tossed them to his -late captors before Butler led him away to the house. “Come have a drink -with me, Burley,” he said, and added, with a chuckle, “I take it you -need it.” - -“That was a narrow escape, eh, Gwyeth?” he spoke later, as Hugh was -swallowing down a bumper of Spanish wine in the west parlor of the -house. - -“Narrow as I ever wish,” Hugh replied truthfully. - -“I think my fellows will hold their tongues now, betwixt threats and -bribes,” Butler went on. “But after this you’d best do as you should -have done at the first, shelter yourself among honest soldiers, who’d -die ere they’d let a comrade come to harm, just for spitting a paltry -civilian.” - -In the end Hugh thought it best to take the advice; if he returned to -Ashcroft there was no reason that Cavalier marauders should not stray -thither again, and a second apprehension might not end so happily. Then, -besides, he was glad, after his weeks of illness and dependence, to be -once more among men, who accepted him as an equal and did not fret him -with constant care. Holding this feeling rather ungrateful, he took -pains to write a very civil and thankful letter to the Widow Flemyng, -which George Allestree conveyed to her, when he rode to Ashcroft with -one of the men to fetch away Hugh’s clothes and accoutrements. - -Allestree had welcomed Hugh boisterously, although he had an alarming -habit of almost forgetting to call him Burley; the blue-eyed Irish -volunteer, Mahone, received him with open arms; and even the lieutenant, -Cartwright, unbent a little toward him. Before a fortnight was out Hugh -understood, for by then he felt he could have fallen on the neck of the -meanest scamp, just for joy at sight of a new face in the garrison. -Woodstead lay close upon the borders of Warwickshire, where the rebels -were up in strength, so none were allowed to venture forth far from the -house. All day long there was nothing to do but to walk up and down the -cramped enclosure, to converse with the troopers as to sick dogs and -lame horses, or to watch Butler’s cocks mangle each other in fight, till -in sheer disgust Hugh turned away. But within the house he found still -less amusement; there was not even a Gervase Markham or a Palmerin to -read, so he was reduced to persuading Allestree or Mahone into fencing -with him, and, that failing, could only play at cards or watch the -others at dice, and listen to Cartwright’s same old stories or the -everlastingly same chatter of the younger men. - -Once, to be sure, there came a day of excitement, when a part of the -troop prepared to ride away to forage in the hostile country. They set -forth bravely in the mid-afternoon, and till they were lost in dust -Hugh, with neither a horse to ride nor sufficient strength for the work, -watched them wistfully from the entrance gate. Then he loitered away to -his lonely supper with Cartwright, who cursed the luck that left him -behind to command the garrison, and drank so deeply Hugh must call a man -to help him to bed. Next day Butler and his men came back, noisy and -victorious, with cartloads of grain and much miscellaneous plunder that -the common soldiery had taken to themselves. They brought also a -Roundhead lieutenant, half-stripped, grimy, and sullen, whom Butler -clapped into an obscure room on a spare diet till he could find leisure -from his more serious affairs to look to him. For the captain had laid -hands on a considerable amount of strong waters, so for two days there -was high carousing at Woodstead, which shocked Hugh, used though he had -become among these comrades to the sight of hard drinking. - -While Butler and his officers shouted and smashed glasses below stairs, -and the men in their turn let discipline slip, Hugh, in the hope of -getting some tidings of his Oldesworth kindred, bribed his way in to -speak with the Roundhead prisoner. The man was defiant at first, then -more communicative when Hugh smuggled him in some bread and meat, but, -being of a Northamptonshire regiment, he could give little of the -information Hugh sought, save that he had heard of Captain Thomas -Oldesworth and had had speech with Hugh’s other uncle, Lieutenant David -Millington, who was in garrison with his company of foot at Newick in -Warwickshire. For his Roundhead kinsfolk’s sake Hugh lent the lieutenant -a coat, and, when Butler, in a shaky, white state of sobriety, packed -him off under guard to prison at Oxford, gave five shillings to the -corporal who had charge of the squad, and urged him to use the prisoner -as civilly as he could. Considering the temper of the squad, however, -and the fact that his old acquaintance, the surly Garrett, was one of -them, Hugh decided those five shillings had probably been expended for -nothing. - -Near a week later the men came back, and, in his joy at any new sight in -his monotonous life, Hugh turned out to meet them. He counted them idly, -as they came pacing in at the gate, till his eyes fell upon a horse that -Garrett led, a bay horse, all saddled, which put up its head and -whickered. “Bayard!” Hugh cried, plunging into the press, and, getting -the horse clear, fair put his arms about its neck in the face of the -whole garrison. “Where did you find him?” he questioned Garrett a moment -later, sharply, to preserve his dignity. - -The man explained they had come home by a way that took them near -Ashcroft, for he held there might be letters Master Burley would gladly -pay a price for, and there they had found both a letter and the horse, -which had been waiting him some days. - -Hugh paid generously, the more so as he saw the letter was directed in -Dick’s black hand; that made the sending of Bayard no longer a mystery, -for doubtless Dick would have him come northward now and so had sent him -the horse. He could hardly wait to see the beast stabled before he ran -up to the chamber he shared with Allestree, and tore open the letter -that should summon him. Then he read:— - -SWEET FRIEND: - -It doth grieve me to bring you aught of disappointment, but patience -perforce, lad. Sir W. hath need of ammunition and of fieldpieces, so he -hath commissioned me, because of old acquaintance in those parts, to go -into the Low Countries and see what may be procured. I would I could -take you with me, but my time is short, for the ship only waits a -prosperous wind. When my task yonder is done I shall come quietly to the -place you know of to confer with Sir W. I will convey you a word, and if -you will join me there we will try another bout with Fortune together. -Till then you were best keep yourself close. There is a rumor that the -lord you know of hath no such big voice in the king’s counsels as he -used. Time, then, and patience may bring all right with us. Commend me -to good Mistress Flemyng, and be assured at longest I shall send for you -ere the end of summer. - - Your very loving friend, - - HENRY RAMSDEN. - -NEWCASTLE, May 20th, 1643. - -That night Hugh ate no supper. Sitting on the broad window-bench he -watched the sunlight wane upon the floor, and the twilight fill in the -chamber, and from time to time, till it was quite dark, he re-read the -letter. In those hours he came to realize how much he had lived on the -expectation that any day Dick might call for him, and he sickened at the -thought of the dull, hateful days of inactivity before him, for now he -must school himself to endure the long three months of summer with -Butler’s crew. Below he could hear the officers singing over their wine, -and, fearing lest Allestree might come half-drunk to urge him to the -table and jeer at his sorry silence, he slipped out by the back way to -the stable, where till bedtime he tried to find some comfort in petting -Bayard. - -Next day life was running its old round, save that the hope which before -had made it tolerable was gone. That week Hugh discontinued fencing; the -weather was over-hot, and besides, what use to drill himself for action, -when Dick had no need of him, and his present companions were content to -idle? Instead of using the rapier, he set himself to watching Allestree -and Mahone at dice, and at length came to take a hand himself. It was an -ill memory to him afterward, those feverish summer mornings when, -sitting in their shirt-sleeves, they threw and threw, sometimes with -high words and oaths, sometimes in silence, save for Allestree’s -half-laugh when he made a winning cast. Fortune varied, but in time -there came a day when Hugh got up from the table, and, thrusting his -hands into two empty pockets, slouched off with his head down. He heard -Allestree say, “I hate a fellow who loses with ill grace,” and Mahone -call, “Hi, Ed! Come back. Don’t give over, man, as long as you’ve a -shirt to stake. Put up your horse now.” - -But Hugh shook his head. Though he had diced away every penny he -possessed, and with it every hope of setting out by himself to seek -other harborage than Woodstead, he would not risk his horse and sword. -Not twenty-four hours later he had cause to rejoice at having kept his -equipments, for at the mess table Butler announced briskly that next day -the troop would ride a-foraying into Northamptonshire, to a little -village called Northrope, where corn could be got in plenty. “And wine -from a brave tavern there,” Allestree whispered Hugh; “Else the captain -would not be so forward in this business.” - -But in his joy at having a hand in active service once more, the end of -the expedition mattered nothing to Hugh. Before noon next day he had his -buff jacket on and his sword slung over his shoulder, then fretted away -the long hours of expectation by tramping about the enclosure, settling -Bayard’s saddle, and listening to Allestree’s proffered bets on the -success of the night’s work. The sun had set behind the low green hills, -when at last Butler led half his troop forth from Woodstead, with -Allestree to keep the rear and Mahone and Hugh to put themselves -wherever they were bid. In spite of the gathering twilight the air was -still heavy with the sweltering heat of the day, and the dust that was -beaten up by the feet of the horses prickled and stung. Before the first -mile was out Hugh had flung open his coat, and was more disturbed at -Bayard’s sweating than at the thought of the skirmish that was to come. - -The night air was cooler and the stars were out thick, when at length -the word ran through the line that Northrope lay over the next swell in -the plain. Falling in with the squadron behind Butler, who was to sweep -around and attack the village from the east while Allestree rode in at -the west side, Hugh drew away noiselessly from the rest of the troop, -and at a swift canter passed through a field into a piece of -spicy-smelling woodland. Beyond that they rode softly along a stretch of -sandy road, and at last halted upon the brow of a hill, beneath which -the dark roofs of cottages could be seen. At a whispered command from -Butler Hugh ranged himself among the corporal’s guard who were to keep -the hill and stop whoever fled that way, while the rest of the dragoons -fell into place behind the captain. Then the leader turned to a trooper, -who, swinging his dragon to his shoulder, fired into the air. An -instant, and far to the west another shot replied, Butler shouted to -charge, and with his men at his heels galloped away down the hill. - -Below in the village Hugh heard the sound of clattering hoofs, of shouts -of attack, and shriller cries. A moment later, and, as he gazed, he saw -over to the west a reddish gleam that broadened and brightened. “They’ve -fired the village,” muttered one trooper, and the rest grumbled -subduedly that all within the scurvy place would be burned ere they came -to share the plunder. - -The moments ran on, while the fire rose and sunk again, till Hugh judged -the night more than half spent. Still none had fled in their direction; -the men were restless at their useless stay, and Hugh himself had grown -to hate this waiting, for it left him time to reflect, and to compare -this raid with the daylight fighting he had had under Turner. For all -the ugly sights of plunder to be seen he felt it a relief when the -corporal gave the word to descend into the village, and gladly as the -rest he trotted forward. - -Once in among the houses his comrades scattered to plunder, but Hugh, -left alone, rode on down the street, which grew lighter with the flare -of the burning houses. He had sight of household stuff that littered the -roadway; in the lee of a wall he saw a man sitting with his hand pressed -to his breast; and down toward the blaze, where was a great yelling and -confusion, he made out against the glare the black shapes of men running -to and fro. He saw, too, nearer at hand, a flapping sign-board before -what seemed an inn, where a noisy crew had possession, and he halted a -moment, while he wondered grimly if Butler were not there and if he -should report to him. As he hesitated he heard some one shout from an -upper window of the cottage on his right, and he let his eyes travel -thither. The place looked dark and blank, but as he gazed the door was -kicked open and a man came forth, holding by the arm a girl, who dragged -back with all her slender strength. “What devil’s trade are you about?” -Hugh called angrily. “Bring the wench hither.” - -The man hesitated, then unwillingly slouched nearer. As the firelight -flared along the street Hugh saw it was his old enemy, the cross-eyed -trooper; then his gaze dropped lower to the pallid face of the girl. At -that Hugh sprang from his saddle with a cry, “Lois, Lois!” - - - - - CHAPTER XVI - ROUNDHEADS AND CAVALIERS - - -He had thrust the trooper aside and drawn the girl close to him. “Sure, -you do not fear me, Lois?” he urged, for she stood with her hands to her -face and her body braced tensely against the pressure of his arm. “I’m -Hugh Gwyeth. You’ve not forgot—” - -At that she uncovered her face and stared at him with so piteous a look -of fright that Hugh hated himself and all who had had a share in that -night’s work. “Be off with you.” He swung round upon the cross-eyed -trooper with some of Allestree’s favorite oaths. “The gentlewoman is kin -to me. Get you hence and be thankful I let you go with a whole skin.” - -Then he looked again to Lois, and, noting now that she had no outer -covering upon her shoulders, unstrapped his cloak from the front of his -saddle and wrapped it about her, drawing the folds up to hide her face -somewhat. He felt her hands clutch tremulously at his wrist, and her -voice broke into a choking sob: “O, Hugh! In sober truth, ’tis you? You -will take care of me?” - -“To be sure I will,” he said, and, slipping Bayard’s bridle over one -arm, put the other about the girl. “Just come with me now.” - -They walked toward where the cottages were burning, slowly, for Lois -staggered as she went, and Hugh, for all his brave speech, was dazed -with the necessity of thinking what he was to do for her protection. -Woodstead was no place to which to fetch a girl, nor was any other -harbor open to him. He halted short in his perplexity, then turned to -her with a sudden idea: “Look you here, Lois; would you wish me to -convey you unto Newick, to Lieutenant Millington?” - -“’Tis thither I was going,” she answered faintly. - -“Well, you shall be safe there ere to-morrow noon,” he assured her. -“Just a little time here, and be not afraid.” - -Thereupon he faced across the street to the house with the sign-board, -where he guessed might be wine and Captain Butler. Within were lights -and men stamping to and fro, while without at the entrance door lingered -others, among whom Hugh caught sight of Garrett, still sober, and seized -on him. “I want your help,” he said brusquely; “I’ll pay you for it ere -I die. Procure some sort of white flag, and find me out a pillion for -this gentlewoman. Put it on my horse and be ready to ride with me when I -bid.” - -Leaving the man with mouth and eyes open in astonishment, he led Lois -into the tavern. Across the corridor a trooper was sprawling, drunk, -Hugh saw, as he thrust him aside with his foot to give the girl passage. -Inside the common room the floor crackled with broken glass, on the -chimney-piece two candles sputtered unevenly, and by the table, a bottle -in one hand, a great mug in the other, stood Butler. Hugh felt Lois -press closer to him, but he resolutely left her on a settle by the wall -and went up to the captain. “I pray you, sir, give me a safe-conduct to -pass through the lines with one of your dragoons,” he blurted out his -business. - -Butler cursed him roundly, and Hugh, standing stiffly, heard him out -without reply, while in his heart he prayed the ugly fit of drunkenness -might speedily give place to the maudlin fit. A heavy stamping made him -turn in sudden hope as Allestree reeled in from superintending the -seizure of the tavern stores. But one look at the guidon told Hugh he -was too far gone to aid him now, so he could only fall back beside Lois, -and, taking hold of her hand, bid her wait a little longer and not fear. - -Presently, after Allestree had pitched into a chair with his head on the -table, Hugh once more made his request to Butler, and once more was -gruffly refused. But then, chancing to spy ink and paper on a shelf, he -blotted off a safe-conduct, and, again presenting himself to the -captain, begged him sign. There were refusals of varying sternness, but -with all the obstinacy of his square chin Hugh followed the man up and -down the chamber, pen in hand, and, holding his temper well in check for -the girl’s sake, bore the other’s abuse and only prayed him sign. At -last Butler, snatching the pen from his hand, splashed a great signature -across the sheet. “Take it, in the devil’s name, you hell babe!” he -cursed. - -Hugh thrust the paper inside his coat, and, running to Lois, jostled a -way for her out to the open air. By the tavern door Garrett, holding a -pike with a white napkin bound to it, was sitting his horse, and by him -stood Bayard with a cushion fixed behind the saddle. Hugh helped Lois to -her place, then, leaping up before her, rode briskly out from the -village. - -Not till the sight of the fire and the noise of the shouts of the -plunderers were quite lost to them did Hugh let Bayard’s eager trot -subside to an amble. He turned a little to ask Lois how she fared, and -bid her keep the cloak close about her against the damp of the early -morning; then he called to Garrett, and, in talking with him of the road -they must take for Newick, time enough passed for the stars to grow few -in the sky. After that they rode a long space in silence, save for the -soft scuff of the horses now and again as they came upon a stretch of -sandy road. The sky grew a fainter dun color, and in the east a slit of -pale light showed, while in the west a white shred of moon yet lingered -on the horizon line. The morning breeze, coming damp on Hugh’s face, -made him heavy with desire to sleep; only at a splashing sound of water -did he rouse up with a jerk to find Bayard knee-deep in a ford and -drinking greedily. To right and left the bushes above the stream were -dusky, but flecks of lighter gray showed in the water where the road ran -down to meet it. “’Twill be sunrise soon,” Hugh said, and shook himself -awake. - -“Think you, presently, I might have a drink of water?” Lois asked -hesitatingly. - -“Why, here and now you shall have it!” he cried, and, flinging his -bridle to Garrett, lifted Lois from her place and led her a little -upstream within the shadow of the bushes. - -As she knelt on the brink and drank slowly from her hand, Hugh had space -to note how white her face was and how weary her every gesture. So when -she rose he drew her back a little to the roots of an oak tree, where he -bade her sit and rest a time. Garrett shrugged his shoulders, when the -word was passed to him, then tied the horses and went to stretch himself -on the bank farther down-stream. Hugh returned to Lois, and, seating -himself beside her, persuaded her to lean against him, till her eyes -closed and he hoped that she might sleep. He sat very still and looked -sometimes at her brown head against his shoulder, and sometimes at the -branches of the oak above him and the clear sky beyond that was growing -brighter and taking on a bluish tinge. He listened to the hurry of the -brook and the restless stamp of the horses; then, shutting his eyes, he -seemed only to see Everscombe manor house and the sunlight upon the -eastern terrace. - -“Are you asleep, too?” The words were spoken softly, but they startled -him through all his body. - -“I am awake now, in any case,” he replied, and laughed a little with a -foolish sort of satisfaction as he looked down at Lois. For the tense -look of the night before had left her eyes, and she had again the face -of his old comrade at Everscombe. - -“Your poor arm will sleep next, Hugh. I am leaning too heavily against -it.” - -“I had not felt it,—if you are content.” - -Lois smiled slightly and tremulously, then, slipping out one hand, drew -her fingers through the wet grass. “There has been a heavy dew,” she -said irrelevantly, “and it has soaked my shoes,—my shoe, I mean.” She -let her feet just show beneath her petticoat, and Hugh had sight of one -stout shoe and the toe of a small gray stocking. - -“You’ve been tramping with one foot half bare?” he broke out. - -“Nay, nay, I have been riding. I knew it not till this morning, so I did -not mind. I must have left that other shoe in the closet where I hid -away.” - -“Tell me, Lois, how came you there at Northrope?” he asked, after an -instant. - -The girl’s face lost its flash of gayety. “Why, ’tis only—” she began, -and, pulling some blades of grass, twisted them between her fingers -without looking at him. “Last October ’twas, Aunt Delia said perchance I -were best now go visit my mother’s kinsfolk in Northamptonshire. And -last week they said I had best visit her again. O me, I know not why -they will not have me! I do not eat so much, Hugh, and I am ready to be -of service.” She pushed aside his arm and leaned forward with her head -upon her knee; by the movement of her shoulders he knew that she was -crying. - -He realized well why she wept, and he knew, too, there was no help that -he could offer; so he only bent forward, and, speaking her name gently, -patted her shoulder. He heard her swallow a sob, then, with her head -still bowed, she went on defiantly, “So there is nothing to tell, Hugh. -A neighbor was riding to Northrope for the day, so they sent me with him -and he left me at that cottage. They thought perhaps some carrier might -be going to Newick, and would convey me thither; then Lieutenant -Millington would find means to despatch me to Everscombe. That is all.” - -Hugh bit his nails and made no reply. If his own father rejected him, -how could he reproach the uncles and aunts who grudged shelter to an -orphan girl? Only she was a girl and weak, and somehow they seemed worse -than Alan Gwyeth. He fell back on his stock piece of comfort: “You -should ha’ been a boy, Lois, and then it had all been easy.” - -“But I have no wish to be a boy,” Lois said sorrowfully, as she turned -away her face to wipe her eyes. - -“Perhaps ’twould not be so pleasant,” Hugh admitted, and added, with a -thought of Frank, “Young boys are sometimes vexatious.” - -Lois gave a laugh that was a bit hysterical. “You have grown very -arrogant. Prithee, now, tell me all about yourself and how you got that -sorry scar.” - -Hugh hesitated, to collect himself, then set forth at great length what -pertained to Strangwayes, and very hastily told her that his father had -disowned him. At that her face grew so grave he hurried back to -Strangwayes again, and forbore to tell her of the duel. So they talked -on till a shaft of sunlight dazzled upon the brook, and the trees cast -clean dark shadows on the pathway. “We must ride for Newick,” said Hugh, -jumping to his feet. “You’re not so weary, Lois? Wait till the next -village and you shall have wine to hearten you. Perchance you could eat, -too?” - -“Perchance, if ’twere offered,” Lois replied demurely, as she smoothed -her hair with her hands. - -“It shall be looked to, I promise you,” he answered gayly, and walked -away. Before he had gone ten paces, however, his gayety was at an end, -for he tucked his hands into a brace of bare pockets. He fidgeted a -moment by the horses; then, taking his only course, walked over to the -surly trooper. “Garrett,” he began, in a low tone, “have you money about -you?” - -“Ay, sir.” - -“Will you lend unto me?” - -“You swore the giving should lie all on your side,” the other answered -suspiciously. - -“I tell you I’ll pay,” Hugh said angrily; and, seizing on the two -shillings the other reluctantly proffered, walked away with his face -burning. - -It had been a petty incident, but the ill taste of it lingered with him, -and took all pleasure from the getting to horse once more. Even the -sight of Lois’s half-smiling face, and her droll efforts to spare her -stockinged foot, could not restore him to his old contented mood. He led -her in silence to where Bayard stood, and there she halted suddenly with -eyes upon the horse. “Why, ’tis indeed the same,” she cried. “’Tis -Peregrine’s steed they said you—” - -“Stole?” Hugh asked sharply. “Ay, ’tis the same.” - -Then he lifted her to her place, and without a word more set forward. - -An hour later, in the full heat of the morning sun, they rode into a -little hamlet, where the people stared at the Royalist red sashes, and -shouted saucy comments on the strangers. Hugh made his way scowlingly to -the village inn, and, helping Lois dismount, led her into the common -room, where he called on the hostess to bring wine and white bread for -the girl. “Are you going with these ruffians of your own will, -sweetheart?” he heard the good woman whisper Lois. - -He was turning away impatiently, when, just at the door, he ran upon the -tapster. “Draw two mugs of ale for my man and me,” he ordered curtly. - -“Will I, sir? Who’s to pay?” retorted the other. “An you pay, ’twill be -the first of your color—” - -“Will you talk?” Hugh cried, with an oath; and struck the fellow so he -staggered. “Fetch what I bid now,” he swore. Then he turned to go back -into the common room; and there Lois sat, not eating, but gazing at him -with blank, dismayed face. - -Without staying to drink his ale, Hugh went out and loitered at Bayard’s -head, where he kicked up spiteful little spurts of dust and would not -stroke the horse. When Lois hobbled out at last in a pair of over-large -shoes, he helped her to mount; she did not speak, and he only looked -sharply at her, but said nothing. As the roofs of the village sank -behind the hill in their rear, however, he turned in the saddle and -addressed her almost roughly, “So you are not pleased with me?” - -“Sure, Hugh, I must be pleased; you have used me so kindly—” - -“That’s a right woman’s trick to bungle at a plain ‘no,’” he said, with -a curt laugh; then started, for tone and laugh sounded to him as an echo -of Allestree, whom he had left drunk at Northrope. Putting spurs to -Bayard, he pressed on at a reckless pace, so the dust rose thick and -white, and turned his throat dry, and sifted in between his collar and -his neck. He was hot and weary and wretchedly angry against all the -world, especially against Lois Campion, why, he could not tell himself. - -In such a mood he cantered into the shadow of the first of a straggling -line of cottages, where a sentinel in a yellow sash, springing to the -middle of the road, bade him pull up. “Conduct me to Lieutenant -Millington,” Hugh ordered, showing his safe-conduct; so in a few moments -he was riding down the street at an easy pace, with a Roundhead corporal -walking at his bridle. - -They drew up without the gate of a large, half-timbered house, which set -back from the road in a garden of red roses that dazzled drearily before -Hugh’s eyes. “If you will accept of my aid—” he said brusquely to Lois, -and had just swung her down from the horse’s back, when he heard the -gate clatter open behind him. He turned about, and came face to face -with Peregrine Oldesworth. - -For an instant they confronted each other without speaking, time enough -for Hugh to take note that his cousin wore a pompous great pair of boots -and a long sword, and had grown a scrap of dark mustache that made him -look older than his years. Then said Peregrine, “Well, have you come to -fetch back that stolen horse, Master Thief?” - -“The horse is best off with him who has the wit to keep him,” Hugh -replied quickly. “Be assured I had not come to you beneath a white flag, -if it had not been to bring Lois hither.” - -“And a brave convoy you have had, Cousin Lois,” Peregrine said, with a -dull flush on his face. “The next time you must roam the country-side, -pray you, seek another protector than a scape-gallows like this.” - -“You know well, Cornet Oldesworth,” Hugh retorted, “that I would pay it -back to you, if you durst put that term to me in any other place.” - -“So you’d like to murder me as you murdered Bellasis?” - -“Murdered! What do you mean?” The words came faintly from Lois, and to -Hugh’s fancy she seemed to draw a little from him. - -“Maybe he will set it forth to you himself,” sneered Peregrine. - -“I killed a man in a fair duel,” Hugh replied shortly. “I leave you to -your cousin’s care, Lois.” With that he seized Bayard’s bridle and -turned away, he cared not whither, only he did not wish to see the -horror in Lois’s eyes. - -“Perhaps you’ll give your horse a rest here at the stable, sir?” the -Roundhead corporal at his elbow suggested civilly. Hugh slouched down -the road after him, and scarcely heeded Garrett beside him, chuckling, -“Well, sir, I knew from the start you were Master Gwyeth.” - -“Now you’re sure of it, you’d best carry the news to Oxford,” Hugh -replied; “I cannot buy silence.” - -After they were into the cool of the black stable and he had seen Bayard -cared for, he sat down on a truss of straw and stared at the motes that -swam in the sunlight by the open door. His eyes ached with the light and -the dust, and his throat was all choked; he crushed the straws between -his fingers as he sat, and in this destruction found his only ease. - -He roused up as a petty officer entered the stable, who prayed him, from -Lieutenant Millington, to come back to the house and dine with the -officers of the company. Hugh hesitated a moment, then came, rather -sullen and defiant, and after washing the dust from his face entered the -dining room. Millington, a heavy, slow man of near forty, greeted him -courteously, and presented him to his brother officers, who were distant -and suspicious. “You are of Woodstead, are you not, sir?” one asked him, -with an implication that made Hugh guess the other held him to have come -from a den of all iniquities. - -Then they conversed of matters that concerned them, while Hugh swallowed -his dinner in silence, with an occasional pause to stare defiantly at -Peregrine, who scowled at him from the opposite corner of the table. It -was a relief when the meal was ended and he could rise, bent on setting -out from the place at once; but Millington bade him step apart with him -into an empty parlor. “’Tis an ill report we have had of you this -winter, Hugh Gwyeth,” he began judicially, as he seated himself by the -open window; “can you give me nothing better to bear to Everscombe?” - -Hugh stood erect, with a feeling that he was a culprit brought to -sentence, and replied that he had only slain a man in a fair fight, and -he held that no wrong. - -“Perhaps not;” Millington waived the question; “but I tell you, nephew, -’tis not the part of an honest gentleman to be herding with such drunken -libertines and cowardly bullies as those that hold Woodstead.” - -“Mayhap ’tis not the company I would keep of my own will,” Hugh -admitted, “though they have been kind to me. But ’tis best I lie close -just now.” - -“If you have done no wrong why need you hide yourself?” Millington -retorted, with a flicker of a triumphant smile. - -“Have me a murderer and a thief, if you will,” Hugh flung back. - -“Nay, ’tis that I held you a lad of good parts, in spite of your running -after these strange gods. That you have dealt so courteously by little -Mistress Campion shows you are not all lost yet. But take heed to the -associates you keep.” - -Hugh felt a guilty hotness in his face, but, bracing himself, he -listened with respect to all his uncle had to say farther in the same -strain, and, when he had done, he replied honestly, “I thank you, sir; -methinks you mean all kindly.” - -So he took his leave, and turned away to summon Garrett; then -remembered, and with a downcast look hesitated back to Millington. “An’t -like you, uncle,” he faltered, “I am ashamed to ask it, but I have had -to borrow money to provide for Lois, and I promised this fellow of mine -reward for aiding me. And I have no money.” - -“Eh? How do you live, then, sir?” - -“I had some. I lost it at dice,” Hugh admitted shamefacedly. “On my -honor, I never will again.” - -There was an instant’s pause, then Millington said more coldly, “I’ll -pay the man,” and led the way from the house. Hugh, following behind -like a chidden child, saw his uncle go to Garrett, who waited with the -horses just outside the gate, and saw him fee the trooper; by the man’s -face he guessed it was done liberally, but he knew the fact that the -money came from another’s hand must always lower him in the fellow’s -eyes. - -Dreading to meet the trooper’s curious look, he was lingering an instant -on the garden walk, feigning to adjust his boot-tops, when he heard -behind him some one call his name. He would not look up till there came -a touch on his arm, and he must raise his eyes to meet Lois’s gaze. “I -wanted to thank you, Hugh,” she said gently. - -“You need not.” - -“And I wanted to ask your pardon, if I hurt you. Truly, I will never -believe you have done anything that is base, whatever they say. Prithee, -forgive me, Hugh.” - -“I should ask you to forgive it that I was so surly,” he hesitated. -“And—and next time I meet you, Lois, I’ll have mended my manners, so you -need not be dismayed. Farewell now.” He looked her frankly in the eyes -as he spoke, then bent a little and kissed her hand. - -He came out at the gate more briskly than he had hoped, and there, by -the horses, found Peregrine and Lieutenant Millington in talk. “When you -go back to Thomas Oldesworth tell him from me he should have taught you -that a white flag protects the bearer,” he heard Millington say, and he -noted Peregrine had fixed covetous eyes on Bayard. Indeed, as Hugh swung -into the saddle, his cousin broke out, “You’ll pay me for that horse one -day, sirrah.” - -But Hugh deliberately turned his back upon his bluster, while he bade -his uncle a second farewell, then waved his hat to Lois, who still stood -among the roses in the garden, and so headed his horse away from Newick. - -The shadows of the two horsemen showed long in the late afternoon sun, -and lengthened and blended at last into the gray of the twilight. Frogs -piped to them in the dusk as they threaded their way through a bit of -bog land, and after that they went a long piece in silence under the -wakeful stars. Hugh suffered Bayard go slowly, while he felt the -pleasant night air upon his face and harked to the hoof-beats, muffled -by the yielding road, till at length a light upon a distant hill showed -where Woodstead lay. At that the horses freshened their pace, and, with -a good flourish, they cantered in at the gate of the manor house and -pulled up at the stables. - -Bayard once made comfortable, Hugh went slowly back to the house, where -he found the officers, with their coats off and the table well stored -with glasses, loitering in the west parlor. - -“So you’re back, are you, sir?” Butler greeted him. “Well, now you’ve -had a safe-conduct and all at your disposal, is there anything else -you’d command of me?” - -“Nothing, sir,” Hugh replied, as he threw off his buff coat. “I’ll not -need your good offices, for—In short, sir, I’m wearied of hiding, and I -want back my own name again. So ’tis in my mind to ride for Oxford -to-morrow.” - - - - - CHAPTER XVII - THE STRANGER BY THE WAY - - -“You’ve a gray day for a start and a gallows at the end,” Allestree -spoke encouragingly, as he lounged in the doorway of the manor house. - -“’Twill be profitable to you, Master Gwyeth, to turn your thoughts as -you go to composing your last good-night,” Mahone paused in lighting his -pipe to add cheerfully. - -Hugh put his attention to drawing on his gauntlets and made no reply; in -the last twelve hours there had been threats and expostulations and -jeers enough to teach him that his only course was to be silent and keep -to his determination. - -“I’ll lay you five shillings, George, he loses courage and sneaks back -in time for dinner,” Mahone resumed. - -The blood shot up to Hugh’s face; he knew that was what Mahone wanted, -and he was the angrier that he had gratified him. He turned sharp away -and fumbled at Bayard’s headstall till he felt surer of his -self-control, then asked stiffly: “Can you tell me if the captain is in -the west parlor? I must take my leave of him.” - -“I don’t begrudge you the task,” Allestree hinted. “The captain lost his -temper at Northrope, because the scurvy little tavern was so ill -supplied, and he has not found it again yet. So look to yourself, Hugh.” - -It did not need Allestree’s warning to bring the heart down into Hugh’s -boots; the mere inhospitality of the closely shut door of the west -parlor and the grim tone in which Butler bade him come in were enough to -daunt him. The captain had been writing ponderously at the table in the -centre of the room, but at Hugh’s coming he flung down his pen, and, -after surveying him scowlingly, burst out: “You’re still set in your -folly, then? Well, for Dick Strangwayes’ sake I’d fain have saved you, -in spite of your cursed sullen ways.” - -“I have not meant to be discourteous to you, Captain Butler,” Hugh -protested; “I thank you for sheltering me and saving me that first time, -I do thank you heartily. But now I think it better—” - -“To seek other company,” Butler retorted. “If you were a bit older, I’d -be angry with you, sir; and if you were a small bit younger, by the -Lord, I’d cuff some wit into you; as ’tis—Well, I’ll shake hands, if you -wish. On my soul, ’tis pity so decent a lad should not have the sense to -keep his head on his shoulders.” Thereupon he turned his back, and, with -great show of being occupied, fell to his writing, so Hugh, feeling -miserably rebuked, had no course but to go quietly from the room. - -Perhaps his downcast state touched Allestree a little, for he met him -more kindly and spared farther jests while Hugh was mounting Bayard. -“Better go to Tamworth if you are ill at ease here,” he counselled -wisely. “But in any case God speed you and protect you for the sake of -the innocence of you.” - -At this Mahone went into a fit of laughter, from which he recovered only -in time to bawl a farewell that reached Hugh but faintly, as he rode out -by the sentinel at the gate of Woodstead. - -Travelling slowly, to spare Bayard after his heavy work of the preceding -day, he came about noon to a cross-road, where for a moment he -hesitated: should it be north to seek Sir William’s help, or south to -put himself into the provost’s hands and trust to his own innocence of -ill intent to bring him clear? But he soon told himself that, if Sir -William had had the power to aid, he would long ago have helped Dick -Strangwayes; and, in any case, he had no will to live longer in holes -and corners, as if he were indeed the murderer Peregrine had called him. -Perhaps he would find friends if he went on boldly. So he jogged -southward at an easy pace, so easy, indeed, that he gave up all idea of -reaching Oxford that day. “And we don’t care to lie in the fields, -Bayard,” he talked softly to the horse. “And we’ve not a penny to our -names to hire lodgings. What say you if we swerve off to Ashcroft? -Perhaps they’ll shelter us this night.” - -At heart he knew they would, yet, remembering how carelessly he had -departed thence, he felt a little backward about presenting himself to -the Widow Flemyng. His pace lagged more and more as he drew near the -farm, and he might have halted short to reconsider, had not the spat of -rain upon the white roadway warned him to look to the sky. There the -clouds were black with storm and thunder, so, having no wish to come at -last to Oxford all bedraggled, he spurred forward hastily and galloped -Bayard into Ashcroft stable just as the rain began pelting down. - -Storm or no storm, so soon as he had delivered over the horse to Ralph’s -care, he put his head down and ran for the house, where he pitched -blindly in at the kitchen door. He heard a shriek from Nancy, “Preserve -us! mistress, ’tis Master Burley come back,” and then the widow’s -peremptory tones: “Take those boots off right where you stand, sir, else -you’ll track mud over my new-sanded floor.” - -Hugh balanced uneasily on one foot as he obeyed, then asked meekly if he -mightn’t be permitted to sit down now? - -“Oh, at table, is it?” questioned the widow, bustling to the nearest -cupboard. “Hungry as ever, I take it?” - -“Always,” Hugh replied, and fetched a stool to the table against the -kitchen wall, where he was presently busy with a cold capon. - -In the midst the widow paused at his side and laid a folded paper by his -trencher. “’Tis well you came hither now, Master Burley,” she said. -“This was fetched from Tamworth for you by a close-mouthed trooper three -days agone. I was almost resolving me to get upon the old mare and ride -to seek you at Woodstead. I am no chit of a girl to fear those saucy -knaves.” - -Hugh laughed, and with frank curiosity unfolded the paper; within were -two gold sovereigns, but not a sign of writing, though he turned the -sheet over and over. “What does this mean?” he asked blankly. - -“I’ve told all I know,” replied the widow. “I did my best to learn more -of the fellow who brought it.” - -Hugh finished his dinner in silence, while he turned over various -solutions. Dick was out of the kingdom, and in any case he would never -have sent the coins and no word; but Sir William had supplied them with -money while they lay hid at the “Sceptre”; or perhaps Frank, with his -well-filled pockets and his boyish fondness for mystery, had had to do -with this. At any rate the money was there in his hands and made his -journey easier, so much so that he felt, had he been superstitious, he -would have hailed it as a sign that he was to go on to Oxford as he had -started. - -Yet when the twilight shut in, gray with drizzling rain, there came on -him a heavy feeling of uncertainty; his own determination, though he -felt so sure of it, weakened a little before the memory of the -opposition of all his friends. In such a mood he loitered into the -cottage parlor, where, finding the Widow Flemyng sitting idle in the -dusk, he drew up a stool and blurted out to her his true name and how -matters stood with him. “I fear you’d not have cared to harbor me, had -you known what a charge I lay under,” he concluded humbly. - -“Why, child, I suspected all along,” the good woman hastened to reply, -and Hugh, staring dutifully at the gray rain outside the lattice, -thought it wise not to contradict her. It gratified him, too, as she -continued speaking, to find she did not hold him a fool for his -resolution. Indeed, she said emphatically no worse harm could befall a -decent lad at Oxford than at Woodstead, and in any case she was well -assured no one would ever have the heart to hang him. “You were best -cast yourself on the king’s mercy,” she ended. “Now had you great -friends at court, or could get to have audience with his Majesty.” - -“Did you ever hear the ballad of ‘Johnny Armstrong’?” Hugh asked. “Dick -used to sing it. There was a man sought the king for pardon and he got -little good by it.” - -All the same her assurances made him more confident in himself, so he -slept that night untroubled and woke ready for whatever the day might -bring. Perhaps it was the widow’s continued encouragements, perhaps it -was the good breakfast he made, or perhaps the sight of the sun -struggling through the watery clouds, that served still farther to put -him in high spirits. Be as that may, he took a gay farewell of Widow -Flemyng and of Nancy, and cantered out by the pasture lane at a hopeful -pace, as if he were eager to cover the distance to Oxford and whatever -waited him there. - -The rain of the preceding day had laid the dust well, and left in the -air a lingering fragrance of moist earth and beaten grasses that made it -a temptation to slacken speed along the country road. In the hedges by -the wayside the honeysuckle was still dripping with wet; Hugh pulled a -tuft of blossoms as he passed, and crushed them slowly in his bare hand. -How sweet and good was life in summer time, he reflected, and then he -flung the blossoms away and, whistling persistently, thought no more, -for his mind was all made up. - -At the first tavern he came to he bought him a draught of ale, bravely, -now there was money in his pocket, then trotted on without halt till -past noon. By that the sun had burnt away the clouds, and the still heat -made the journey less pleasant; so, coming upon a sleepy village with a -small neat inn, the “Bear and Ragged Staff,” Hugh thought well to rest -the midday hours and get food for himself and his horse. The fear of -being recognized and apprehended before he should have a chance to give -himself up made him call for a private room, where he ate alone, except -that the host bustled in to serve him and retail a variety of gossip. -Oxford was near enough for the daily news to pass to the village, so -Hugh heard a deal of authentic information of how the king was said to -lean now to the counsels of the hot-heads and to the army, and how the -royal troops might any day set forth to take in Bristol. He scarcely -heeded more, for the talk of Oxford had turned his thoughts again to -what was before him. Where should he eat his next meal, he wondered, -with a remembrance of the grim Castle; and then, impatient at his own -faltering, he jumped up hastily, and, paying his reckoning, went down to -the little court of the inn, where he bade them saddle Bayard at once. - -The horse had been led out into the shade of an open shed, and Hugh was -lingering by the stirrup to fee the hostler, when outside the gateway -sounded a great clattering of hoofs, and a gentleman came spurring in -upon a white horse, that stumbled on three legs. “Have me hither a fresh -mount, briskly, you knaves!” he shouted, flinging a handful of loose -coin among the stable-boys and loiterers. Then, as he put eyes on -Bayard, he swung himself from his saddle. “This beast will serve my -turn,” he called to the host, who had just showed himself at the door of -the inn. - -“By the Lord, this beast will not serve your turn!” Hugh cried hotly, -and, catching hold on Bayard’s bridle, flung himself before the horse in -time to confront the stranger. “This is no post-horse, sir, but mine -own.” - -The other turned sharp away with a shrug of the shoulders; they were -broad shoulders, Hugh noted, and the rough gray coat fitted them ill. -“Put saddle to another horse at once,” the man bade. - -“There is no other at hand, your Honor,” the host apologized, as he -ventured out into the court. “All are at the smith’s. Belike in a -half-hour, your Worship—” - -“Enough,” the other interrupted him, and strode back to Hugh. “What will -you sell this beast for?” he asked curtly. - -“Not again for all the gold in England,” Hugh replied, tightening his -grasp on the bridle. - -“My faith, sir, I’ve no intent to knock you down and steal the horse,” -the other answered, with a short laugh. - -His cool tone allayed the heat of Hugh’s anger sufficiently for him to -note the man more closely now, and he perceived he was not above three -or four and twenty, of a tall strong build, with sharp eyes. Hugh caught -his breath and stared frankly, while his mind jumped back to his first -day at Oxford, when he and Allestree, standing upon the steps, had -watched the king and his retinue ride by. The stranger had turned his -back upon him now, and drawn over to the centre of the court, but his -voice was loud, and Hugh could hear him bidding the hostler run out and -procure him a farm-horse or aught that went upon four legs. With a -sudden desperate impulse Hugh thrust forward and spoke boldly, “If it -like you, sir, you may have my horse now.” - -“Your price?” - -“No price. I’ll lend him unto you.” - -“You’ve changed your tune quickly, sir,” said the man, coming back to -Bayard’s side. - -“I’m thinking ’tis likely your business is of more weight than mine, -your Highness,” Hugh answered, in a tone that sank to a whisper. - -“So you know me?” asked the stranger, with his foot already in the -stirrup. - -“I can guess, sir.” - -“Spare guessing, then, for taxing the brain,” retorted the other, as he -settled himself in the saddle. “Give me your name, though, sir; I’ll not -forget your service.” - -Hugh hesitated an instant, then replied, “Hugh Gwyeth.” - -“I’ve heard that name. Perhaps you’re kinsman to him that killed -Bellasis’ son?” - -“I—I am the man that killed him, sir.” - -“You? The deuce you are!” the stranger broke out; and, to Hugh’s -amazement, he did not look horrified, but more as if he were inclined to -laugh. “Come seek me to-morrow morning at my quarters,” he said -abruptly, then, gathering up the reins, went out of the inn yard at a -gallop. - -Hugh stood gazing blankly after him, and could not decide whether to be -elated or dismayed, for he knew the stranger was Prince Rupert, and he -was to have audience with him next morning. Carry his cause to the king, -the widow had counselled him, Hugh reflected, and he tried to smile at -the remembrance, though his heart was sober and anxious. - -Just there the host interrupted him; what was his pleasure now? Surely -he would not attempt to make his journey with the lame horse? “No, let -him rest,” Hugh ordered; “I’ll venture him in the morning. For now give -me a chamber; I’ll lie here this night.” - -He was early astir next day, for, though the way to Oxford was short, he -was not sure of his mount, and, in any case, he was burning with desire -to present himself before the Prince and know the worst that was -destined for him. The white horse still went lame with a strained -fore-leg, but, sparing him as much as he could, Hugh contrived about -eleven of the clock to pace slowly into the city. Before he entered the -suburbs he had flung on his cloak, in spite of the heat, and pulled his -hat low on his forehead; but still he was nervously alert to avoid the -fixed gaze of those he met, and he dreaded any delay in the street. By -dint of such precautions, perhaps, he came at last unchallenged to -Christ Church, where he remembered Prince Rupert had his quarters. - -The groom who took his bridle eyed him sharply, and, once across the -quadrangle and within the broad hall, a trig gentleman usher looked -askance at his worn boots and shabby buff coat. Hugh had too much upon -his mind, however, to trouble for his poor attire. He sat uneasily in -the great chair to which he had been motioned, and studied the sunlight -that fell from a long window high up toward the roof of the hall, till -the usher came at last to bid him follow. Hugh trudged obediently up a -great flight of stairs that creaked alarmingly, and, as he went, -wondered why there was an emptiness where his heart ought to be, and his -throat felt all choked up. - -A great door was swung open, he remembered; then he was within a long -sunshiny chamber, with heavy table and big dark chairs, the usher had -gone, and he was left face to face with his Highness, the Prince, and -another youngish gentleman, who sat at opposite sides of the table with -a jumble of papers betwixt them. “You keep your time well, Master -Gwyeth,” spoke the Prince, and put by a paper like a map he had been -studying. - -“Your Highness bade me,” Hugh stammered. - -“So ’twas you killed Bellasis’ son,” the other repeated, still amusedly. -“Lay down that order, Grandison. I want you to have a look at this -desperate duellist.” - -“That boy, your Highness?” drawled the man at the table. - -The blood came hot into Hugh’s cheeks. “I pray your Highness, hang me, -if you will, but do not mock me,” he blurted out. - -“Who speaks of hanging you here, lad?” Prince Rupert answered, in so -kindly a fashion that Hugh gazed at him in surprise. “Nay, had I my way, -I’d give a captaincy to every man who has the goodness to take off one -of these cursed civilians who are always holding our hands. You are of -the army, sir?” - -“I hope to be, your Highness. I am only a volunteer now.” - -“’Tis near enough for all soldiers to aid you as a fellow-soldier.—And -how think you, Grandison, my Lord Bellasis would take it, if this -gentleman received a free pardon?” - -“He would deem himself most notably affronted,” the other answered -soberly. - -Hugh made a step forward and let his words come fast: “If it be your -Highness’s will, if ’tis in your thought to aid me, I do entreat you, -let my case go, so far as it concerns me. But there is my friend that -went to the field with me, for my sake, and cared for me when I was ill -with my hurt afterward. He lost a commission because of me. If there is -only one can be pardoned, I beseech your Highness let it be he.” - -“And how do they call this notable friend of yours?” - -“Richard Strangwayes, your Highness. He was lieutenant in the regiment -of Sir William Pleydall.” - -“Pleydall? Ah, your case was brought unto our notice two months back. -Ay, surely. Gwyeth and Strangwayes. Sir William Pleydall was urging your -pardon through a certain Captain Gwyeth who came to me.” - -Hugh dropped his hand down on the back of a chair close by and griped it -hard, while he gazed blankly at the Prince, yet scarcely saw him. -Captain Gwyeth had been urging his pardon, he repeated over and over to -himself, yet could not make it comprehensible. Then he realized that his -Highness was speaking again, and he roused himself up to listen. “Two -months back that was. Well, there is time for many matters to change in -two months. Perchance your business can be settled for you, Master -Gwyeth. Only you must promise to fight no more duels,” the Prince added, -with a laugh in his sharp eyes. - -“I will promise, your Highness,” Hugh answered soberly. - -“And break it, I’ll wager. You were ready to draw your sword on a poor -dismounted traveller yesterday. Maybe you’d like to have back that horse -you’d not take all the gold in England for?” - -“If it does please your Highness,” Hugh said politely; then added -honestly, “I should be loath to part with him.” - -His Highness laughed outright. “Go to my stable and call for the horse,” -he bade. “Come hither again in a week or so, and there may be tidings -for you. Only see you do not come to court too often, Master Gwyeth; -’twould be a pity to spoil the honest blunt soldier you are like to be -with a slippery courtier polish.” - -Then he turned again to his map in sign of dismissal, and Hugh somehow -contrived to bow himself safely through the door. He was out in the -green quadrangle before he got it through his head that Prince Rupert -himself would move for his pardon to the king, and then he recollected -he had not even said “thank you,” and he flushed hot with the -consciousness of his own churlishness. - -It changed his thoughts a trifle to seek out his way to the stable and -claim Bayard, whom he had been ready to give up for lost and was -proportionately glad to recover. Once upon the horse’s back, he took -himself unostentatiously through the streets to the lodgings of his -fencing-master, de Sévérac, who received him warmly, when Hugh assured -him he was fairly sure of pardon and sought only to have quiet harborage -for the week. Those seven days he passed in the dingy sleeping-room -behind the fencing-hall, where he studied the pictures in a great French -folio, “L’Academie de l'Espee,” or entertained de Sévérac in his leisure -moments with a full account of the duel with Bellasis. The -fencing-master, who took a professional pride in his pupil’s success, -entreated Hugh not to persist in saying the victory was due solely to -Bellasis’ carelessness; ’twas just as easy to give credit to himself and -those who taught him the use of the rapier. - -Thus the week dragged to an end, while Hugh counted the days -impatiently, and heard with terror that troops were setting out for -Bristol, for in the confusion the great men might well forget his -business. At last the seventh day came, and, having put on a clean shirt -and brushed his coat, he set out for Christ Church. As he went he tried -to steel himself against possible disappointment by telling over the -many cases of the ingratitude of kings; but at heart he knew he did not -believe so ill of the Prince, and in the end his trust was justified. He -had not been kept waiting many minutes in the great hall, when a trim -officer came from above-stairs, and, asking him if he were not named -Gwyeth, delivered to him a fair great piece of parchment all sealed up. -“’Tis my pardon?” Hugh burst out. - -The other smiled, not unkindly. “The king of his clemency has been -pleased, at his Highness’s entreaty, to grant a full pardon to those who -had a hand in the death of Philip Bellasis,” he explained formally; then -added, “Suffer me congratulate you, Master Gwyeth.” - -In a dazed fashion Hugh shook the other’s hand, then came forth from the -hall into the open air. There he paused, and pushed his hat well back on -his head so all could see his face, then, walking out into the South -Street, tramped half across the city. For he need not skulk nor shrink -now, he was a free man again; and how stoutly he meant to fight for -Prince Rupert, since he could show his gratitude in no other way. Then -it came over him that he were best post off at once to Tamworth and -thank Sir William Pleydall, who had first begun the movement to relieve -him, and thank Alan Gwyeth, who had been Sir William’s instrument. Hugh -scowled and walked a little slower. - -But still all his friends lay at Tamworth, and he would speed a letter -thence to tell Dick the good news; so in the end he made briskly for his -quarters. Taking time first to hale out de Sévérac to a fine dinner at -an ordinary, where they ate under the full gaze of the town, he got to -horse, and, ere mid-afternoon, trotted forth from the city. He -calculated he would make the “Bear and Ragged Staff” just about dusk, -and, true enough, he rode down the village street while the red flush of -the sunset still lingered in the west. - -Inside the court of the inn he saw five horses standing, stripped of -accoutrements and already half rubbed down by the hostler and his groom. -“Take this beast of mine in to make the half-dozen,” Hugh bade, and, -dismounting, walked leisurely across the court to the side door. His -eyes travelled above the door to an open lattice, and, as he gazed, like -the flash of a face in a dream, he had sight of Dick Strangwayes. - -For an instant Hugh stood petrified while he took in each -detail,—Strangwayes’ clean-shaven jaw, the sweep of mustache, the -bandage about his forehead, even the way in which he leaned heavily at -the window, resting one hand against the casement; then he sprang -forward, crying, “Dick!” - -Right on that Strangwayes flung himself forward half out at the -casement, and shouted, “Into the saddle and off with you, off with you!” - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII - THE CALL OUT OF KINGSFORD - - -Just inside the door of the inn was a steep flight of steps; Hugh -tripped over the first, but, almost ere his outstretched hand touched -the floor, was on his feet again and rushing up the stairway. As he ran -he pulled his sword clear from the scabbard; if matters were so ill Dick -wished him thence, he would have need of it. But in the corridor -above-stairs all was quiet, he noted in the instant in which he paused, -holding his breath, and gazed at the closed doors along the gallery. -“Dick!” he called again, so there came a little echo from the end of the -corridor. Then he ran headlong for the nearest door, and, dashing it -open with his foot, flung himself well into the centre of the chamber. -By his very impetus he thrust out of his way a man in a blue livery -coat, and, clearing free passage thus, pushed up to the wall and set his -back against it. There were three blue-coated serving men in the room, -he perceived now, and a gross, short-necked man in a fine riding-suit, -who was deliberately bolting the entrance door. Then his eyes rested on -Dick, who, seated well away from the window, was leaning back indolently -in his chair and tugging at his mustache; only Dick’s white face was -tense, Hugh saw, and he noted, too, that his friend wore no sword. - -It was the short-necked man who broke the instant’s expectant hush: -“Master Hugh Gwyeth, the tall swordsman? On my soul, I be rejoiced to -meet with you. Put down that sword. You are my prisoner.” - -“What knaves are these, Dick?” cried Hugh, with his sword-hand alert on -the hilt. - -“Of the old Bellasis breed,” Strangwayes answered, and let his hand fall -from his mustache with the merest gesture toward the open window, and -just a look which bade Hugh take his chance. - -“Ay, we apprehend you for the foul murder of my kinsman, Philip -Bellasis,” spoke the man by the door. - -“Is that all?” Hugh asked, with a sudden nervous laugh of relief. He -clapped his sword back into the sheath and tore open his coat. - -“Seize his arms!” cried the short-necked man. - -One of the serving fellows had sprung at him, when Hugh, striving to -throw him off, saw Dick come to his feet at a jump and hit out. Somebody -bellowed with pain; he found his arm free, and Dick’s shoulder pressing -against his as they stood to the wall. “Have done, have done!” Hugh -cried. “Read you there, Dick.” - -He thrust the parchment into his friend’s hands, and Dick, with a -smothered exclamation, broke the seals. An instant of silence came upon -the room, as if all had half guessed; only the rustle of the parchment -and the heavy movement of the fallen serving man dragging himself to his -feet broke the quiet, till Strangwayes spoke with ominous civility, -“Will you deign, Master Bellasis, to bestow one glance upon his -Majesty’s seal and signature?” - -“You’ll not deceive me—” said the gross man with much bluster, yet he -came hastily, and, gazing upon the paper, read with dropping jaw. - -“Now have you any farther business with me, Master Bellasis?” -Strangwayes asked easily. “Speak quickly, ere I go across the corridor -to sup with Master Gwyeth.” - -The other said something that was choked with inarticulateness in his -short throat. - -“I am ordering my supper now,” Strangwayes finished, as he went with -much dignity to the door; “and hark you, sir, I want my sword brought -back to me ere supper be on the table. For I’ll be wishing to fetch it -along with me when next I come to seek you.” - -Then he made Master Bellasis a very low bow, and, catching Hugh by the -arm, brought him out into the corridor. Right across the way was a -vacant chamber, but almost before they were inside the door Hugh’s arms -were about Dick, and Strangwayes, with his voice half smothered in the -roughness of the embrace, was jerking out: “Heaven forgive Bellasis his -other sins for the good turn he did in bringing us together. But ’twould -have been a sorry companionship, had you not come so furnished.” Thereat -he got Hugh by the scruff of the neck and set him down hard on the -nearest stool. “Now, you thick-witted rogue,” he ordered, “why in the -name of reason did you not call out to me from the inn yard and say you -had that piece of parchment inside your coat? Here I sat a good -half-hour and schooled myself into seeing you laid by the heels along -with me. Faith, I’ll look to find white hairs in my head to-morrow.” - -Hugh laughed, because the world was so good now he could do nothing -else, then poured out his story thick and fast,—Prince Rupert at the -“Bear and Ragged Staff,” and behind that Newick, and Woodstead, and -Ashcroft, all huddled together. “Lord save us! We must have food to help -down such a lump,” cried Dick, and, summoning the host thereupon, -ordered supper to be ready in quick time. - -A drawer came speedily to fetch them candles, and barely had he gone -when one of the bluecoats, bowing his way in, handed over to Strangwayes -his sword. Dick gave him money, and bade him and his fellows go drink. -“A pleasant company I’ve been keeping, eh, Hugh?” he asked, with a dry -smile, as the man backed out. “How came I by it? Alas, a man cannot -always choose. I was about my business at The Hague, like a decent -gentleman. And that fat calf, Herbert Bellasis,—’tis a cousin to the -whole scurvy connection,—he was there on some mischief, and recognized -me.” - -Just there came supper, but across the table Strangwayes drawled on: “My -friend Bellasis feared a young man like myself might come to harm in -foreign parts. So he fetched me home.” - -“Fetched you, Dick?” - -“Very simply. He and his bluecoats met me of a dark night in a byway. He -was urgent, but I refused his invitations. Then they picked me up and -conveyed me aboard an English ship.” - -“I don’t believe they could,” Hugh said bluntly. - -“To be sure, they had knocked the senses out of me, else I had not come -so meekly. ’Twas there I got this souse in the head; ’tis near healed -now. But there were four bluecoats once; one of them is still at The -Hague, cherishing a punctured lung; I gave it to him. We had a merry -passage over, Hugh; Bellasis and I must share the cabin and eat -together. He used to tell me over the wine—’twas ship’s beer and flat at -that—how I ought to be hanged, and he hoped to live to see it done. And -I used to compliment him on his mad dare-devil courage. For if at five -and thirty he durst attack a single man when he had only four to back -him, no doubt at seventy he would dare come on with only two to aid. -Nay, if he lived long enough, he might yet arrive at fighting man to -man. Methinks the length of years he had to wait discouraged him, by the -vile temper that put him in. Every pleasure has an end, so at last we -made the Welsh coast and posted hither, in the very nick of time, it -seems. For, Hugh, after this last exploit of yours, I’d be loath to -leave you fending for yourself. Man alive, where do you think you’d be -lying now, if you hadn’t chanced to take the Prince’s fancy?” - -Hugh answered submissively that he didn’t know. - -“Neither do I,” Strangwayes retorted grimly. “Nay, nay, don’t look -conscience-stricken now, for you found the one good chance in a hundred, -and it has all come well. But ’tis a blessing for us that his Highness -delights to fly about noisily in disguise, instead of plodding soberly -about his business. It has been more of a blessing to us, perhaps, than -to the kingdom.” - -“You shall not speak slurringly of Prince Rupert in my presence!” Hugh -flared up. - -Strangwayes said, with a laugh, that he would make honorable amends by -drinking his Highness’s health, on his knees, if Hugh desired; so they -ended amicably by drinking the health together as they stood by their -chairs, then religiously smashed their glasses, and went away to bed. - -The early sunrise roused them up to repeat and re-repeat all that had -befallen in the months of their separation, a subject which lasted them -through breakfast till they quitted the table and went down to the inn -yard. “Why, Herbert Bellasis has taken himself and his people hence,” -Hugh cried, after one glance into the vacant stable. - -“I respect wisdom in any man,” Strangwayes commented, as he loitered at -Hugh’s side in among the stalls. “You say the Prince said something to -you about not fighting any more? Tut, tut! ’Tis a pity.” There he broke -off suddenly, “Why, lad, how came old Bayard back to you?” - -“Why should you ask?” Hugh replied wisely. “If you don’t know, I don’t.” - -“I’d take it kindly if you’d talk reason,” Strangwayes said -pathetically. “What have I to do with your horse? I don’t know even who -bought the beast, or whither he was taken from Oxford.” - -Hugh whistled a stave. “It must ha’ been the same who sent me the two -sovereign from Tamworth. Maybe ’twas Sir William, or perhaps Captain -Turner.” - -“Or perhaps Captain Gwyeth,” Dick said, after an instant. - -Hugh stared blankly a moment, then stamped his foot down on the stable -floor. “I won’t believe it,” he cried fiercely. “I tell you, I’d fling -away the money and turn the horse loose, if I believed it.” - -“Captain Gwyeth had a hand in that first movement to gain your pardon,” -Strangwayes spoke impartially. - -“He was only Sir William’s instrument,” Hugh insisted, and, without -staying to caress the horse, strode out of the stable. - -Strangwayes followed in silence; indeed, that instant’s jar ended -conversation between them till they were back in their chamber, and Dick -was busied in writing the news of his whereabouts and the outcome of the -Bellasis affair to Sir William. “What use?” urged Hugh, wearied of -gazing out of the window with no one to talk to. “We’ll be at Tamworth -soon.” - -“Not for a little time,” Strangwayes answered, with his eyes intent on -the sheet; “I’ve business here at Oxford.” - -He did not tell his companion what the business might be, but to all -appearances it was furthered by taking a room in Oxford, by dining with -various gentlemen and officers, and by devoting some days to a happy and -care-free time of which Hugh enjoyed every moment. Not till the morning -succeeding the day on which the king left the city to take possession of -Bristol did Strangwayes make mention of the northward journey; then he -routed Hugh early from his bed with the announcement that they would set -out at once. “But first we must eat a meal at the ‘Sceptre,’” he -concluded. “Fit yourself for the road, Hugh, and gallop thither to order -dinner. If I’m not with you ere noon I’ll have been called north by the -other way, so do you post after as fast as you can. Remember.” - -An hour later Hugh was gayly riding out by the western road, which he -had last travelled with such different feelings, and, coming in the -mid-morning to the “Sceptre,” ordered dinner grandly. Afterward he -loitered down to the bowling green, now all short velvety grass, where -he had inveigled Martin, the friendly drawer, into giving him a lesson -in bowls, when Strangwayes hailed him noisily from the doorway. “My -business is despatched,” he said smilingly, as Hugh came to meet him. -“After all, we’d best bribe Martin here to eat the dinner for us. We -must be off.” - -They went out from the “Sceptre” at a rattling pace, but the first hill -slackened their speed so conversation was possible. Then Strangwayes -drawled pleasantly, “I’ve no wish to deceive you into any danger, Hugh, -so you should know I have just fought with Herbert Bellasis.” - -“Dick!” Hugh cried. - -“I was most circumspect,” Strangwayes apologized. “I waited till the -king was well away, so I might not do it in the very teeth of him. And I -did not hurt the fat lump, though I’d fain have done so. I only knocked -the sword out of his fist, and then the poor knave was very ready to -kneel down and crave my pardon, and swear never so to abuse a gentleman -again. Don’t put on your Puritan face, Hughie. The fellow had so treated -me I could do nothing else.” - -“Why did you not let me come to the field with you?” Hugh protested. “I -take it most unkindly of you.” - -“I was not going to let my folly spoil your new fortunes,” Strangwayes -answered. “I think ’twas done so quietly ’twill all blow over, since we -have got away to Tamworth. But if not, no charge can come against you.” - -“Why will you always be sparing me as if I were a child?” Hugh cried, -with an angry break in his voice. - -“Because some ways you are still just a long-legged, innocent bairn,” -Dick replied, with a chuckle, whereat Hugh tried to sulk, but that was -impossible with Dick talking fast of their comrades at Tamworth. In the -end he must talk, too, and laugh with Dick, till he forgot the hurt to -his dignity. - -By hard riding they contrived before moonrise to reach Ashcroft and -rouse up the Widow Flemyng. She fair hugged Hugh, and said of course she -knew he’d get his pardon; then fell to cooking their supper, while she -talked loudly and contentedly to either of them or both. Next morning -they set out in dubious weather, and, going a short stage out of their -direct road, passed that night with Butler and his officers, who made -much of Strangwayes, though they looked askance at Hugh, and were half -loath to forgive him for not getting hanged as they had prophesied. Next -evening brought them to Sir William Pleydall’s great house in -Worcestershire, where his widowed daughter, Mistress Cresswell, gave -them a hearty welcome, and, riding thence at sunrise, they came at last -unto Tamworth. - -It was about four of the afternoon, hot and moist with slow rain, when -they rode across the King’s Dyke down the narrow High Street of the -town. At the door of a tavern Hugh caught sight of a trooper loitering, -a shiftless fellow of Turner’s company, but he longed to jump down and -have speech with the rascal. “Let us push on briskly, Dick,” he begged, -and so they went at a swinging pace down the street and across the -river, where on its height Tamworth Castle towered black against the -gray sky. There was a shout of greeting to the petty officer of the -watch, a scurrying of grooms in the paved south court of the castle, and -then the word of their coming must have travelled at high speed, for -barely had they crossed to the main door of the keep when a young -officer ran out to meet them, and fell on Strangwayes. “Have you forgot -me, Lieutenant?” he cried. - -“Sure, no, Cornet Griffith,” Dick answered heartily. “Your leg’s -recovered?” - -“A matter of a limp; it does well enough in the saddle. I have back my -commission under Captain Turner now, so we’ll serve in the same troop. -Ay, your lieutenancy is waiting for you.” - -Talking boisterously, they crossed the great hall that was now a -guardroom, and, passing into one of the lesser rooms that served the -officers, came upon Michael Turner. It pleased Hugh more than he could -show that the captain did not scoff at him, but gave him a half-embrace, -saying kindly: “Faith, we’re glad to have you back, Gwyeth.” Though next -moment he had turned away to talk with Strangwayes: “You’ve come in time -for work, Lieutenant. They’re drawing all the men they can find westward -unto Gloucester, where they say there will be brisk doings. Leveson’s -and my troops are here in the castle; Gwyeth’s has gone a-raiding into -Warwickshire; the others are all prancing into the west. We’re a scant -hundred to defend the whole town, so we’ll gladly give you the pleasure -of keeping the watch to-night.” - -Strangwayes came away laughing, and under Griffith’s guidance they went -down a corridor to a snug parlor, where they had the good fortune to -find Sir William, idle for the moment, and unattended save by a single -hound. The dog made a dash to meet Dick, barking hilariously the while, -so Hugh could only see that the baronet embraced his nephew warmly, and -he stepped back a little to leave them to themselves. But Dick haled him -forward, and Sir William spoke to him with a gracious sort of welcome -that made Hugh stammer, when he tried to thank him for the effort to -secure his pardon. “Nonsense, nonsense,” spoke Sir William; “we had no -need to seek it, sir. You have the wit or the good fortune to be able to -maintain yourself without our help. Your father ought to be proud of -you.” He stopped there, then, as he turned again to Strangwayes, added -with a certain diffidence: “I pray you, Master Gwyeth, do not forget to -go speak to Francis; he has been in a fit of the sullens since -yesternight.” - -Hugh left the room in some wonderment, and, seizing upon a serving man, -was speedily conducted by a passageway, up a flight of stairs, and along -a gallery to a closed door. Hugh knocked, and, getting no reply, knocked -again, then tried the door and found it bolted within. “Frank,” he -called, and began shaking the door. “Open to me. ’Tis Hugh Gwyeth.” - -There was an instant’s pause, then a slow step across the floor, and the -grate of the bolt in the socket. “Come in, hang you!” Frank’s voice -reached him. - -It was a big cheerless tower chamber, Hugh saw, with heavy scant -furniture and windows high from the floor that now gave little light. He -stood a moment, half expecting Frank to speak or bid him be seated, but -the boy slouched back to the bed that stood in the farther corner, and, -without looking at him, flung himself down upon it. “Why, what’s amiss?” -Hugh broke out, and went to him; now he came nearer he saw Frank had -been crying much. - -“Nothing,” the boy answered, and kept his face bent down as if he were -ashamed. - -“Tell me,” Hugh urged, “you’ll feel the better for it. Is it anything -because of Griffith?” - -“Yes, it’s that,” Frank cried, raising his head defiantly. “They have -taken away my cornetcy, Hugh. ’Tis all along of Michael Turner. And I -never harmed him; I had done my best. But he comes to my father; he says -he must have a man for his troop. So my father turns his anger on me; he -said I was a selfish, heedless child, where ’twas time I bore me as a -young man. And then Ned Griffith comes back all cured, and they stripped -me of my cornetcy to give it to him.” Frank dropped down with his face -buried in the pillow. “I pray you, go away,” he choked; and, in the next -breath, “Nay, come back, Hugh; you’ve always been my friend.” - -Hugh sat down obediently by the bed, scarcely knowing what to say, when -Frank with his face still hidden suddenly broke out, “Hugh, did you look -to have that cornetcy last winter?” - -Hugh hesitated: “Yes, I did hope. But I had no reason, ’twas no fault of -yours.” - -“My faith, I had not taken it of you, had I known. I’d not have used a -man as Ned has used me, as they all have used me. I have been playing -the fool, and they all have been scoffing at me, and I did not know it.” - -“Sure, you must not take it so grievously, Frank,” Hugh urged. “Get up -and wash your face and show you care not. You’ll have another commission -soon, when they see you are in earnest.” - -Between coaxing and encouraging he got Frank to his feet at last, and -even persuaded him to eat supper, which he ventured to order sent to the -chamber. Throughout Hugh did his best to talk to the boy of any and all -matters that had befallen him, till he roused him to a certain dull -interest. “So you’ve had back your horse all safe?” Frank asked -listlessly. “’Twas I procured Captain Gwyeth the name of the place where -you were hiding. He bought the horse when ’twas sold at Oxford, and he -wished you to have it, that time when he was working for your pardon. -Yes, I know your father well; he is always kind to me, and does not mock -me as the others have been doing. I used to tell him all about you, and -then he asked me find where you were lodging. I had influence with my -father then, so I could learn it,” he added bitterly. - -All thought of comforting Frank had left Hugh; he tried to listen with -sympathy to his piteous complaints, but it was useless; so he rose, and, -bidding him as cheery a good night as possible, and promising to come -back in the morning, went out from the chamber. At the end of the -gallery was a deep window-seat, where he sat down and stared out at the -roofs of the town that huddled gray in the twilight, so intent on his -own thoughts that he started when Dick touched his shoulder. “How did -you leave the poor popinjay?” Strangwayes asked, with a trace of a laugh -in his voice. - -“Better, I think,” Hugh replied. - -“Poor lad! Sir William might remember there is a mean betwixt -over-indulgence and severity. But Frank has brought it on himself. When -he forgot to do his duty in the troop he would be trying to cajole -Captain Turner into good humor, just as he has always cajoled Sir -William. And Michael Turner is not the man to coax that way. He has -influence with Sir William, too, and so—Well, ’twill be for Frank’s good -in the end,” Dick concluded philosophically, as he settled himself on -the window-bench. - -Hugh made room for him, then went on staring at the gray sky. Suddenly -he broke out, “Dick, it was Captain Gwyeth sent me Bayard.” - -“Ay?” the other answered, without surprise. “And I have it of Sir -William, he was main urger, and drew him on to what seemed a hopeless -attempt to gain our pardon.” - -Hugh scowled at his boots. “I take it I must wait on him and tell him -‘thank you,’ when he comes back out of Warwickshire. I wish he had let -me alone!” he cried. - -“You _are_ like your father,” Strangwayes said judicially, leaning back -on the window-bench. “See to it, Hugh, you do not make the resemblance -too complete.” - -“How that?” Hugh asked guiltily. - -“By giving way to your ugly pride, so you do what it may take months of -repentance to undo.” - -Hugh made no answer, and the silence between them lasted till the -gallery was quite dark, when, slipping off the window-seat, they tramped -away to their comrades below. - -Next day Hugh gave himself up to Frank, who, truth to tell, in his -present half-subdued state was pleasanter company than he had been at -Oxford. He persuaded Master Pleydall to come out and view the town, -which took them till mid-afternoon; and then they loitered back to the -castle, with discreet turnings to avoid meeting any of the other -officers. Frank dodged into a tavern to keep out of sight of Griffith, -but he dragged Hugh half a mile down a blind lane to avoid a suspected -encounter with Captain Turner. “Mayhap I was impudent and forward, so he -got at last to ask my advice about conducting the troop, when others of -the men were by. And I thought he meant it all in sober earnest.” Frank -made a brave attempt at nonchalance, but his lips quivered so Hugh had -an improper desire to chastise Michael Turner; for all his swagger and -affectation, Frank had been too innocent and childish a lad to be -scathed with the captain’s pitiless sarcasms. - -Luckily they had no more encounters with men from the garrison till they -were nearly at the gate of the castle, and then it was only Strangwayes, -riding forth in full armor, with some twenty men behind him, to post the -watch about the town for the evening hours. Hugh made him a formal -salute, which Dick returned gayly before he rode on. - -“Dick is right fond of you,” Frank said, with a shade of envy; and after -that they sauntered in a moody silence, till, the sight of the stables -cheering Frank a bit, he prayed Hugh come in and look at The Jade. “I’ve -not seen the old lass since day before yesterday,” he explained. - -They were still lingering to admire the mare, when two grooms came -hurrying a lathered horse into the stable. “Who’s been riding so hard?” -Hugh asked carelessly. - -“Messenger from the troop to the south, sir.” - -“To the south?” Hugh repeated. “Come quickly, Frank, I must see—” - -He walked rapidly across the courtyard to the door of the guardroom. -About it men were crowded, and more were pressing into the room itself; -but at Hugh’s jostling they made him a way into the thick of them. Over -on a bench in the corner he had sight of a man with the sleeve cut from -his coat, who sat leaning heavily against a comrade. Another, whom Hugh -recognized as the surgeon of the regiment, was washing a wound in his -arm, and as he moved, Hugh got a glimpse of the face of the injured man. -“Cowper!” he cried, and ran forward, for he knew the fellow for one of -Captain Gwyeth’s old independent troop. - -Men gave him place; he heard a mutter amongst them, “The captain’s son,” -but he did not heed; just pushed his way to the wounded man, and bent -over him: “Cowper, what has happened? Is anything wrong with my father? -Tell me.” - -“They closed in on us, sir,” the man roused up to speak. “Captain -Oldesworth’s horse, and a company of foot beside. They took our horses -and they slew Cornet Foster. I came through for help. They have the -colonel blocked up in Kingsford church.” - - - - - CHAPTER XIX - THE RIDING OF ARROW WATER - - -For a moment the faces of the men about him went all blurry to Hugh’s -sight; then he was making his way fumblingly across the guardroom, and, -thrusting out one arm before him, found the door to the inner part of -the castle. Now that he was hurrying at a surer pace down the corridor -within, he realized that his breath was coming in short gasps and he was -shaking with a nervous tremor. Kingsford, Kingsford, the word kept -singing through his head; the Oldesworths, who had so hated Alan Gwyeth, -held him at their mercy now at Kingsford. Only to Hugh it was no longer -Alan Gwyeth, but his father, the father whom his mother had taught him -to respect, who had tried to win him a pardon. And he had begrudged the -man even a grateful thought. - -Hugh dashed open the door of his chamber, and, kicking off his shoes, -began tugging on his boots. He heard a step behind him, as he struggled -with his head bent; then came Frank’s voice: “Hugh, you’ve heard? They -have cut him off; he has cried for help; my father is taking counsel -with the captains—” - -“Counsel?” cried Hugh, springing to his feet. “Why don’t they send him -aid?” He tore his buff coat down from the wall. - -“Faith, ’tis a question if there is aid to send,” Frank cried, in equal -excitement, as he made a hindering effort to help Hugh into the coat; -“they have taken away so many of our regiment; we are scant a hundred -men all told; they say ’tis doubtful if we can send—” - -“Then I’ll go to Kingsford alone. Run bid them saddle Bayard, Frank, -quick.” With that Hugh caught up his sword, and, going full speed out of -the chamber, drowned in the clatter of his boots the protests Frank sent -after him. - -Below, in the tower room that served for conferences, Sir William would -be with his officers, and he hoped there to learn farther news. Almost -at the door he ran upon a man from Turner’s troop, all accoutred, who -drew back and saluted him. “What seek you? Know you what they are -planning?” Hugh asked excitedly. - -“Nay, sir; only I was bid have my horse ready, and stand at their -service.” - -Hugh could guess the service. Pushing by the trooper to the door of the -chamber, he knocked a rattling, peremptory knock, and another right upon -it. At that the door was wrenched open, and Leveson, grim and dignified, -had begun, “What brings you, sirrah?” when Turner’s voice interrupted: -“Hugh Gwyeth, is it? Let him come in.” - -After that Hugh had a confused sight of the high-studded room, with the -sunlight far up on the walls and the corners dusky, and of the men by -the table, who had faced toward him. Then he found himself over by Sir -William’s armchair, his hand resting hard upon the table, and he was -speaking rapidly: “I am going to Kingsford, Sir William, to my father. -If you are seeking a messenger for anything, I’ll bear it safely. For I -am going straightway.” - -“Nay, I shall not suffer it, Hugh Gwyeth,” the baronet cut him short. -“Do you understand? The roads are close beset; the trooper who brought -us the tidings was shot in the arm and the side.” - -“But I know the Kingsford roads. I can make it,” Hugh protested, and -looked from one to another of the three dubious faces. “Sure, you’ll let -me go,” he burst out. “I must. If he be—harmed and I not there. I must -go.” His eyes dropped to his hands that were clinching his hat fast, and -rested there; he dared not glance again at those about him lest he find -refusal in their looks, and he hoped they might not be gazing at him, -for he knew his mouth was working. - -Then Turners voice sounded quick and decided: “Let him go, Sir William.” - -“Ay, he is a light rider and he knows the roads. A good messenger, after -all,” Leveson added in a matter-of-fact tone. - -Hugh looked up hopefully and saw a glance exchanged between Sir William -and his captains that meant his case was won. “We’ll not endanger you -with a written message,” the baronet spoke at once; “for I tell you -frankly, sir, you run a hundred chances of capture. If you do contrive -to bring yourself through the rebel lines, bid Captain Gwyeth from me to -hold out but two days, till Saturday, and he shall have help. ’Tis so -you have determined, gentlemen?” - -“If the Lord aid us, we can recall enough troops to make the town good -and ride for the rescue by then,” Turner answered. - -“That’s all your message, Gwyeth,” Sir William resumed; “and remember, -if the rebels knew the time when relief could be looked for, ’twould aid -them mightily, so if you be taken—” - -“I’ll not be taken, sir, I do assure you,” cried Hugh, with his hand on -the latch of the door; “I’ll come through safe to Kingsford.” - -“Heaven grant it!” the other said, with a trace of a smile, and then -soberly, “I can warn you, the captain will be glad at heart to see you.” - -Turner said something kindly, too, Hugh remembered afterward, but for -the present it was just people speaking and wishing him God speed, and -he was glad when he clapped on his hat outside the door and could run -for his horse. - -Outside, the whole castle seemed emptied into the south court; Leveson’s -and Turner’s men, some in coats and more in shirt-sleeves, who shouted -questions and the tidings back and forth, and swore and scuffled at the -jostlings of the crowd. The sun was down, but the early twilight still -was clear between the gray walls, enough to bring out every detail of -the swarming courtyard, and to enable Hugh to distinguish the faces of -the men. Down in the thick of the throng he caught sight of Frank, with -a groom holding The Jade, and he ran down from the doorway to him. At -that, some of the men set up a cheering, under cover of which Frank, -putting his arm round Hugh’s shoulders, said in a low tone: “I want you -to take the mare, Hugh; she’s faster than Bayard, and she’s not been -used these two days; and I did not know it was your cornetcy I was -taking, and I want you to ride her. Into the saddle with you!” - -Without wit or time to reply, Hugh found himself on the mare’s back, -felt her quiver beneath him, and had opened his mouth to bid the groom -let go her head, when the shouting swarm between him and the great -gateway was suddenly cleft apart. Up the lane Black Boy came swinging -with Strangwayes pulling taut on the bridle so he eased up at Hugh’s -side. “Get you down,” Dick cried without question, and, springing to the -ground himself, began tearing off his cuirass. - -“What will you have? Be brisk,” Hugh shouted, coming out of his saddle. - -Strangwayes flung his cuirass about him, and began very deliberately -taking in the straps to fit Hugh’s body. “Did you think you were going -on a pleasure ride?” he asked. Frank burst into a nervous laugh, which -others caught up, and some began cheering for the lieutenant. Hugh heard -The Jade prancing with impatience at the sound, and he himself fairly -squirmed under Dick’s touch. “Let me be off!” he cried. - -“You’ve all night before you,” Strangwayes drawled. “Hold up your arm so -I can get at the strap.” - -Just then, through the clatter of The Jade’s restless hoofs and the hum -of the eager crowd about him, Hugh heard his name called. Looking over -his shoulder he saw Cowper, with his face the color of ashes, limp up -between two comrades. “They said ’twas you should go to Kingsford, sir,” -the man addressed him. - -“I’m to venture it,” Hugh answered. “How left you matters there, -Cowper?” - -“The captain has the church and the graveyard, sir. The rebels hold the -village and the bridge over the Arrow. I got across two mile up at the -Blackwater ford. The river ran high, and they had set no guard. ’Twas -breaking through the village they shot at me.” - -“Go tend your hurt now,” Hugh found thought to urge. “I’ll remember the -ford, be sure. Are you done now, Dick?” - -“Done with that,” replied Strangwayes. “Are your pistols in order? And -the word for the night is ‘Gloucester’; you’ll need it at the gates.” - -“Yes, yes,” Hugh cried, and made a dash for The Jade, who, dragging her -groom at her head, had fretted herself a good ten feet away. A trooper -jumped forward and caught her bit to stay her; but it was Dick, Hugh -remembered, who held the stirrup so he could swing himself easily into -the saddle. “God speed!” he heard Strangwayes say in the instant that -followed. “We’ll be at your heels soon. God speed!” - -That was all the farewell between them; for the men stood back from The -Jade’s head, and, with a shrill squeal, she darted forward across the -court. Hugh heard the click of her hoofs on the cobblestones, then lost -the sound in the cheer upon cheer that broke from those about him. His -arms ached with the tense grip he was holding on the bridle, and then he -found the mare had the bit in her teeth. “Go, if you will,” he cried, -letting the reins looser. The shadow of the gateway fell upon him; he -saw the flicker of the torch beneath it and the white faces of the men -on guard. Then he had jammed his hat on hard, and, bending his head, was -striving to hold The Jade straight as she tore down the slope and sped -through the town. - -Houses and shops rushed by; he heard a woman shriek abuse after him for -his mad riding; the crash of opening casements, as the townsfolk leaned -out to see him pass; once, too, his heart gave a jump as a boy, like a -black streak, shot across the road just clear of The Jade’s nose. Then -the bulk of the town gate blocked his way; he saw the sentinels spring -forth to stay him, and, contriving to check the mare an instant, he -leaned from the saddle to say “Gloucester” to the corporal in charge. - -“Pass free,” came the word; the men stood from his path, and, giving -loose rein to The Jade, he flew by them out into the twilight stretch of -open country road. - -For a time it was just breathless riding, with his full weight on the -reins to slacken the mare’s speed; for the road was all ruts, and he -feared for her slender legs. The mud spattered up even into his eyes, -and once, at a dip in the road, he felt his mount make a half-slip in -the mire, which sobered her somewhat, so he could ease her down to a -slow, careful trot that promised to carry him well through the night. -Now he was first able to look about at the broad, dusky fields and back -over his shoulder, where Tamworth town and castle were merged into the -night. The first exhilaration of the setting forth went from him in the -stillness and dark; it was steady, grim work he had before him, yet he -felt assured he would come safely into Kingsford, and, spite of the -gravity of it all, he found himself smiling a little at the way in -which, at last, he was going to his father. He wondered perplexedly how -he should greet Captain Gwyeth, and how phrase his message; a formal -tone would perhaps be best till he was sure of his welcome. But Sir -William had said his father would be glad at his coming; at that thought -Hugh pricked on The Jade a little faster. - -Once clear of the first village beyond Tamworth he entered a stretch of -woodland, where the black tips of the trees showed vivid against the -starless gray sky. Below, the undergrowth was all dense darkness and -Hugh thought it well to keep a hand on his pistol, for he was drawing -into Puritan country where a Cavalier was fair game for an ambuscade. -Out beyond he trotted again through fields, only blacker and lonelier -now than those by Tamworth. Such cottages as he passed were silent and -dark; at one farmstead he heard a dog howl, and once, in a tangled -hollow, a bat whizzed by his head, but he saw or heard no other living -thing. Though once, as he gazed across the fields on his left, he made -out in the distance a gleam of light; a farm must lie yonder, and he -pictured to himself the low cottage chamber, where the goodwife would be -watching with a restless child. Such shelter and companionship was -betokened by the light that he turned in the saddle to gaze at it till a -clump of trees shut it from him. - -It must have been something after midnight, though under that starless -sky he could not tell the time surely, when he clattered into a -considerable town. An officious watchman with a bobbing torch ran from a -byway, calling on him to stand, so Hugh clapped spurs to The Jade and -shot through the street at such a pace that the next watchman could only -get out of his course without trying to stay him. But after that he grew -wary and, when the outlying houses of the next town came out of the -black, turned off into the fields and picked his way about it. The -round-about course saved him from interference, but it took much time; -by a dull, unbraced feeling, that was not sleepiness nor yet quite -weariness alone, he knew he had been many hours in the saddle, and he -began to look to the east, in dread lest he catch the first signs of -daybreak. - -Presently he must give his whole attention to The Jade, for they -spattered into a ford where the going was treacherous. While she halted -to drink he gazed about at the bushes and the field before him, and, -spite of the dark, knew the place. It was home country he was drawing -toward now, so he trotted on slowly, with his senses alert and his eyes -peering into the dusk for the landmarks that should guide him. So it was -that at last on his right hand he caught sight of a big leafless oak, -beneath which he pulled up short. True enough, he remembered the way in -which the tree stood up bare and alone with scragged common at its back; -he could not see well for the dark, but he knew that at the farther edge -of the open land was a belt of young oaks that hid the ford of -Blackwater. - -He lingered beneath the blasted oak, time enough to look to his pistols, -and time enough, too, for him to recall the ghostly reputation of the -lonely tree, so his nerves were crisping as he rode by it into the -common. But he quieted The Jade’s fretty step, and, in the action and -the thought of what might be before him, steadied himself till, though -his body was trembling with eagerness, his head was cool. He took the -precaution of making the mare keep a slow trot that was half muffled in -the turf, though he urged her as much as he dared on the uneven ground; -for to the east, as he looked over his shoulder, the dark was beginning -to pale. The early summer morning must be near at hand, for when he had -crossed the open there was light enough for him to make out the break in -the trees where the bridle path wound down to the ford. - -Hugh went in cautiously, with the reins taut in his left hand and his -right on his pistol; but for all that The Jade’s feet splashed in the -sloughs of the pathway with a loudness that startled him. He pulled up a -moment and listened; ahead he could hear the lap, lap of swift water, -but for the rest the wood was silent. He was about to press the mare -forward with a touch of the spur, when, flinging up her head, she -whickered shrilly. Right upon that, somewhere to the front by the -water’s edge, a horse neighed. - -Next moment Hugh felt the lash of low boughs across his neck, as he -pulled The Jade round with her haunches in among the bushes by the path. -Spite of the crash of the branches, and the pounding of the blood in his -temples that near deafened him, he caught the sound of hoof-beats on his -left, coming down on him from the common as well as up from the river. -At that he urged The Jade forward, straight into the bushes at the other -side of the path, where the limbs grew so low that he bent down with his -bare head pressed against her mane. For all the hurry and tumult, his -ears were alert, and presently he heard their horses crashing behind him -among the trees at the right. Then, cautiously as he could pick his way -in the gray dimness, he turned The Jade’s head to the common. Brushing -out through the last of the oaks he faced southward, and, as he did so, -cast a glance behind him. Out of the shadows of the trees in his rear he -saw the dim form of a horseman take shape, and a command, loud in the -hush of morning, reached him: “Halt, there!” - -Hugh laid the spurs to The Jade’s sides and, as she ran, instinctively -bent himself forward. Behind him he heard a shot, then the patter of -many hoofs upon the turf, and a second shot. Right upon it he felt a -dull shock above the shoulder blade; the ball must have rebounded from -his cuirass. After that he was in among the trees once more; through the -wood behind him men were crashing and shouting; and even such scant -shelter as the oaks gave was ending, as they grew sparser and sparser, -till he dashed into an open stretch that sloped to the Arrow. To the -front he had a dizzy sight of more horsemen straggling from cover; there -were two patrols closing in on him, he realized, and with that, jerking -the mare to the right, he headed for the river. - -Before him he could see the slope of hillside, the dark water under the -bank beyond, even the dusky sedge of the low opposite shore. He saw, -too, a horseman, bursting out from the trees, halt across his path, but -he neither stayed nor swerved, just drove the spurs into The Jade and -braced himself for the shock. He must have struck the other horse on the -chest; he had an instant’s sight of a trooper’s tense face and a horse’s -sleek shoulders, then only black water was before him and men behind him -were shouting to pull up. There came a sickening sense of being hurled -from the earth; a great splashing noise and spray in his face. After -that was a time of struggling to free his feet from the stirrups, to -clear himself from the frightened mare; all this with water choking and -strangling him and filling his ears and beating down his head. He had no -thought nor hope nor conscious plan of action, only with all the -strength of his body he battled clear till he found himself in -mid-stream, with the current tugging at his legs, and his boots and -cuirass dragging him down. Once his head went under, and he rose gasping -to a dizzy sight of gray sky. He struck out despairingly while he tried -in vain to kick free from his boots. The current was twisting and -tossing him helplessly; he turned on his back a moment, and still the -sky was rushing past above him and whirling as it went. Above the din of -the water he heard faint shouts of men and crack of musket-shot. A base -end for a soldier, to drown like a rat! he reflected, and at the thought -struck out blindly. The water swept him down-stream, but he fought his -way obliquely shoreward till of a sudden he found the tug of the current -had abated. He could rest an instant and look to his bearings; quite -near him lay the shore, a dark sweep of field with a hedge that ran down -to the water, and on the farther side the hedge he saw horsemen -following down the stream. - -Hugh struck out with renewed strength, till, finding the bottom beneath -his feet at last, he splashed shoreward on the run, and, stumbling -through the sedge and mire of the margin, panted upward into the field. -Off to the left were the roofs of Kingsford, so far the current had -swept him, but near at hand there was no hiding-place, nor even a tree -to set his back against, and, with his boots heavy with water and his -breath exhausted with the past struggle, he had no hope to run. He -halted where he was, in the midst of the bare field, and pulled out his -sword, just as the foremost horseman cleared the hedge at a leap. It was -not so dark but Hugh recognized the square young figure, even before the -man charged right upon him. “Good morrow, Cousin Peregrine,” he cried -out, and dodged aside so the horse might not trample him. “Get down and -fight.” - -As he spoke he made a cut at the horse’s flank; then Peregrine, crying -out his name, sprang down and faced him. They were blade to blade at -last, and at the first blow the older lad flinched, stumbling back in -the long grass of the field, and Hugh, with eyes on his set, angry face, -pressed after him. Horses were galloping nearer and nearer, men calling -louder, but Hugh did not heed; for Peregrine, mistaking a feint he made, -laid himself open, and he lunged forward at him. - -Then his sword-arm was caught and held fast, and he was flung backward -into the grasp of a couple of troopers. The man who had first seized -him, a grim corporal in a yellow sash, wrenched the sword out of his -hand, and he heard him speak to Peregrine: “Has the knave done you hurt, -sir?” - -Hugh pulled himself together, though his whole body was still a-quiver -with the action of the last moments, and looked about him. Yellow-sashed -troopers surrounded him, six or seven, he judged, and a few paces -distant stood Peregrine, with his hand pressed to his right forearm. “He -slashed me in the wrist,” young Oldesworth broke out; “I tripped, else -he had not done it.” - -“You had not tripped if you had stood your ground,” Hugh flung back, -with an involuntary effort to loosen his arms from the grasp of those -who had seized him. - -“Hold your tongue, you cur!” snapped Peregrine, and might have said -more, had there not come from across the river a prolonged hail. One ran -down to the brink to catch the words; but Hugh had no chance to listen, -for at Peregrine’s curt order he was hustled upon one of the troop -horses. They tied his hands behind him, too; whereat Hugh set his teeth -and scowled in silence. What would Peregrine do with him before he were -done, he was wondering dumbly, when the man from the river came up with -the report that the captain bade to convey the prisoner to Everscombe, -and see to it that he did not escape. “I’ll see to it,” Peregrine said -grimly, and got to his saddle, awkwardly, because of his wounded arm, -that was already staining a rough bandage red. - -The morning was breaking grayly as the little squad turned westward -through the fields, and by a hollow to the Kingsford road. As they -descended into the highway, Hugh faced a little about in his saddle, and -gazed down it toward the village; a rise in the land shut the spot from -sight, but he knew that yonder Captain Gwyeth lay, awaiting the message -that he was not to bring. The trooper who rode at his stirrup took him -roughly by the shoulder then, and made him face round to the front. “You -don’t go to Kingsford to-day, sir,” he jeered. - -Hugh had not spirit even to look at the fellow, but fixed his eyes on -the pommel of the saddle. Trees and road he had known slipped by, he was -aware; he heard the horses stamp upon the roadway; and he felt his wet -clothes press against his body, and felt the strap about his wrists cut -into the flesh. But nothing of all that mattered as his numbed wits came -to the full realization that this was the end of the boasting confidence -with which he had set forth, and the end of his hope of meeting with his -father. The last fight would be fought without him, or even now Captain -Gwyeth, ignorant of the aid that should hurry to him, might be putting -himself into his enemies’ hands. At that, Hugh tugged hopelessly at the -strap, and found a certain relief in the fierce smarting of his chafed -wrists. - -Like an echo of his thoughts Peregrine’s voice came at his elbow: “So -you were thinking to reach Kingsford, were you?” - -“I should not be riding here just for my pleasure,” Hugh replied, with a -piteous effort to force a light tone. - -“’Twould be as well for you if you were less saucy,” his cousin said -sternly. “You know me.” - -“I know you carry one mark of my sword on you,” Hugh answered, looking -his tormentor in the face, “and if you’d not let your troop come aid -you, you’d carry more.” - -For a moment he expected Peregrine to strike him; then the elder lad -merely laughed exasperatingly. “You’ll not talk so high by to-night,” he -said, “when you’re fetched out to see that dog Gwyeth hanged up in -Everscombe Park.” - -“You’d best catch him before you hang him,” Hugh answered stoutly, -though the heart within him was heavy almost beyond endurance. What -might the Oldesworths not do if once they laid hands on Captain Gwyeth? -A prisoner of war had no rights, Hugh was well aware, and so many -accidents could befall. He felt his face must show something of his -fear, and he dreaded lest Peregrine goad him into farther speech, and -his words betray his wretchedness. - -But happily just there they turned in between the stone pillars of -Everscombe Park, and Peregrine paced to the front of his squad. Hugh -listlessly watched the well-remembered trees and turnings of the avenue, -which were clear to see now in the breaking dawn. The roofs of the manor -house showed in even outlines against the dull sky, all as he remembered -it, only now the lawn beneath the terrace was scarred with hoof-prints, -and over in the old west wing the door was open, and a musketeer paced -up and down the flagstones before it. Heading thither, the squad drew up -before the entrance, and Hugh, haled unceremoniously from the horse’s -back, was jostled into the large old hall of the west wing, that seemed -now a guardroom. - -“How do you like this for a home-coming, cousin?” Peregrine asked, and -Hugh looked him in the eyes but answered nothing. His captor laughed and -turned to his troopers. “Search him thoroughly now,” he ordered; “then -hold him securely till Captain Oldesworth comes.—And I can tell you, -sirrah,” he addressed Hugh once more, “you’ll relish his conversation -even less than you relish mine.” - - - - - CHAPTER XX - BENEATH THE ROOF OF EVERSCOMBE - - -They had searched Hugh, thoroughly and with more than necessary -roughness, and now he was permitted to drag on his dripping clothes -again. It was in a long, narrow room at the end of the old hall, where -the ceiling was high and dark and the three tall windows set well up -from the floor. A year ago it had been a closed and disused apartment, -but now a couple of tables and some stools were placed there; Hugh noted -the furniture in listless outer fashion as he sat wrestling on his -sodden boots. For once his captors had taken their hands off him; one -trooper was guarding the door and another was pacing up and down beneath -the windows, but the corporal and the third man stood within arm’s reach -of him. When Hugh rose to his feet the corporal made a little movement, -and he realized they were all alert for his least suspicious action. “My -faith, I’m not like to get away from the four of you,” Hugh broke out in -a despairing sort of sullenness. “’Tis only that I’d fain put on my -coat, unless you claim that along with my cuirass and buff jacket.” - -One bade him put on and be hanged, and Hugh, having drawn on the wet -garment, sat down again on the stool by the table, too utterly weary and -hopeless to note more than that the room was damp and the chill of his -soaked clothes was striking to his marrow. With a thought of tramping -some warmth into his body he rose again, but the corporal sharply bade -him sit down quietly or be tied down. Hugh resumed his place on the -stool with his shoulders against the edge of the table and one ankle -resting on the other knee; he would gladly have swung round and rested -his head upon the table, so worn-out and faint he felt, only he knew if -he did his captors would think him childish and frightened. - -Of a sudden he heard the sentinel at the door advance a step and -announce to the corporal: “Captain Oldesworth has just come into the -guardroom, sir.” - -A queer tingling went through Hugh’s veins, and upon it followed a -sickening faintness. Bringing both feet down to the ground, he faced -about with his clinched hand on the table and his eyes fastened upon the -door. He knew now why he had not been able to think, those last moments, -why every humiliation had been scarcely heeded, in the expectation of -this that was before him. He saw the corporal draw up stiff in salute, -the sentinel stand back from the door, and then, clean-shaven, -set-mouthed as ever, he saw Tom Oldesworth stride in. - -It had been in Hugh’s mind to stand up to meet his uncle, but at the -last he dared not trust his knees to such a test. For the moment the old -boyish fear of the elder man, whose raillery had cut him, whose blows -had made him flinch, came back on him, and he could only stare at him -dumbly. - -“’Tis not the place I had looked to find you, nephew,” Oldesworth -greeted him, in a tone that though brusque was kindly enough. Only in -the hurriedness of his bearing and the eagerness in his eyes Hugh read -no friendly presage, so he let his gaze fall to the table and studied -the grain of the wood, while he listened to the beating of his heart -that vibrated through all his body. - -Oldesworth spoke a word aside to the corporal, and as the troopers drew -to the farther end of the room came and set himself down opposite Hugh. -“Now attend me, sir,” he began rapidly. “By your trappings you seem to -have learned something of war; then you know how the case stands with -you now we have you fast. So I trust you will not suffer any childish -stubbornness to vex me or harm you.” - -Hugh watched the man’s hard face with fascinated eyes and lips -half-opened, but found no tongue to reply. - -“You were riding to Kingsford,” Oldesworth continued, gazing at him -fixedly. “You came from Tamworth, whither a messenger was posted -yesterday. You brought an answering message. What was it?” - -Hugh flung back his head. “If there be a message, think you I’d be such -a fool as to tell it?” he cried, in a voice that was so firm it made him -glad. After all, he had no need to fear, for this was only a man like -the rest, and he was now a man, too. - -“You brought a message from Sir William Pleydall,” Oldesworth repeated, -unmoved. “He is going to send aid to this man, is he not? Why, I can -read that in your face, Hugh. Aid is coming, then. Is it to-day? -To-morrow? Answer me.” - -Hugh met his uncle’s gaze fairly, with his head held a little upward and -his lips tight-set now. There was nothing for him to say, but he knew -they fought the battle out betwixt them while their glances met. - -“So you’re stubborn, are you?” Oldesworth said, rising to his feet. “You -young fool! Do you think you can set your will against mine?” - -“I think I will not tell what you ask,” Hugh replied without a tremor. - -Oldesworth leaned a little forward with his fist upon the table. “I have -been waiting all my manhood to take satisfaction from Alan Gwyeth,” he -said slowly. “Now the opportunity is given me do you think I shall -suffer a boy’s obstinacy to hinder me? I will have that message. If -you’ll not yield it for the asking, why—Come, come, speak. I’d be loath -to hurt you, Hugh.” - -“I’d be loath to have you, sir,” Hugh replied soberly, though his whole -inclination was to laugh; for now the worst had come he was braced to -meet it, and quite unafraid. - -Captain Oldesworth’s jaws were set ominously at that. “Corporal,” he -ordered sharply, “send a man to fetch rope and a piece of match.” - -With an involuntary start Hugh came to his feet, for his mind had jumped -back to something Butler had once hinted,—that a length of burning match -tied between the fingers was the surest way to make a dumb knave find -his tongue. - -“’Tis no laughing matter, you’ll perceive,” the captain said, with a -trace of satisfaction. “Now you’ll tell?” - -Hugh shook his head, not looking at his uncle but with eyes upon the -door. He saw it pushed open, and then came in the trooper with a length -of rope in his hand, but Hugh scarcely heeded, for behind him, with an -eager step, walked Peregrine Oldesworth. After that it did not need the -tramp of the men crossing from the other end of the room to set every -fibre of Hugh’s body tense for the coming struggle. With a quick -movement he swung about to catch up the stool he had just quitted; -Oldesworth must have stepped round the table behind him, for he blocked -his way now, and catching him by the shoulders made him stand, for all -Hugh’s effort to wrench clear. “’Twill be no use fighting, my lad,” he -said, with something oddly like pity in his face. “Do as I ask -straightway. You’ve done all a gentleman need do. Tell me now when -Pleydall is coming. Else you go into the hands of Cornet Oldesworth and -his squad here. And Peregrine is keen for this work. But tell, and no -one shall lay hand on you, nor—” - -“I care not if you kill me!” Hugh cried hoarsely. - -“Have it your way, then!” Oldesworth retorted, and, flinging him off, -turned his back. “Tie him up, lads,” he ordered. - -Some one griped his collar, Hugh felt; there was a rip of cloth, and for -a moment he had torn himself free and struck out blindly at the mass of -them. They must have tripped him, for he felt the floor beneath his -shoulders; but he still had hold on one of them, and he heard a shirt -tear beneath his hands. There came a dull pain between his eyes, as if -the bones of the forehead were bursting outward, and he made a feeble -effort to strike up as he lay. Then the struggling was over; he could -not even kick, for one that sat upon his legs; a man’s knee was grinding -down on his back, and his arms were forced behind him. His face was -pressed to the floor, and he could see nothing for a blackness before -his eyes, but he heard Peregrines voice, cool and well-satisfied: “He’ll -be quiet enough now. Here’s the rope.” - -Some one else had entered the room, Hugh realized; a slow step, a pause, -and then a stern voice that rang loud: “Thomas Oldesworth! Bid your -ruffians take their hands from your sister’s son.” - -“Father!” the captain’s voice spoke, then after an instant’s blank pause -ran on: “You do not understand, good sir. He—” - -“Will you stand arguing?” There came a noise as of a staff’s being -struck upon the floor. “Do I command in this house, son Thomas, or do -you? You ruffianly knaves, up with you all!” - -They had left him free, Hugh found, and dragging one arm up to his head -he lay panting desperately, without strength or heart to move. “Help him -to his feet,” the stern voice spoke again. “Or have you done him serious -hurt?” - -They lifted him up, with gentler handling than they had yet given him, -and staggering a pace to the table he leaned against it. He drew his -hand across his eyes unsteadily to rub away the black spots that danced -before them; he had a blurry sight, then, of the troopers drawn back to -the windows, and of the captain and Peregrine, who stood together with -half-abashed faces, for in the doorway, leaning on his staff, was Master -Gilbert Oldesworth. “Get you back to Kingsford and fight out your fight -with the scoundrel who wronged your sister,” he spoke again. “At such a -time can you find no better task than to maltreat a boy?” - -“If you would only pause to hear how matters stand, sir,” the captain -urged, with a visible effort to maintain a respectful tone. “The lad -holds the information that shall make us masters of that villain Gwyeth. -If he will not speak, though he were twenty times my nephew, I’ll—” - -“If he were twenty times the meanest horseboy in the king’s camp, he -should not be put to torture beneath my roof,” Master Oldesworth -answered grimly. “Come here to me, Hugh Gwyeth.” - -Wondering dully why all the strength had gone out of his body, Hugh -stumbled across the room and pitched up against the wall beside his -grandfather. He noted now that his shirt was torn open, and drawing his -coat together he tried to fasten it; his fingers shook unsteadily, and -the buttons were hard to find. He felt his grandfather’s hand placed -firmly on his shoulder. “I think you have mishandled this gentleman -enough to satisfy you,” the old man spoke contemptuously. “Henceforth -you will merely hold him as a prisoner taken in honorable war. And I -shall myself be responsible for his custody.” - -“My good father,” Captain Oldesworth broke out, “I cannot suffer him to -pass from my keeping. My responsibility to the state—” - -“Will you school me, Thomas?” Master Oldesworth cut him short. “I am -neither bed-ridden nor brain-sick that you should try to dictate to me -now. But I will advise you, sir, that there are decencies to be observed -even in war, and there are those in authority would make you to smart if -ever they got knowledge of this you purposed. Lift your hand against my -grandson, and this day’s work comes to their ears.” - -Then the grasp on Hugh’s shoulder tightened, and submissively he walked -at his grandfathers side out into the guardroom. Those loitering there -drew back to make way for them, he judged by the sound of footsteps, but -he had not spirit even to look up. By the difference of the oak planking -of the floors he perceived they were entering the passage that led to -the main building, when he felt a firmer grip close on his arm and heard -the voice of the Roundhead corporal: “I crave your pardon, sir. The -captain bade me see the prisoner safely locked up.” - -“No need,” Master Oldesworth spoke curtly, and then addressed Hugh: “You -will give me your parole not to attempt an escape.” - -Hugh looked up helplessly into his grandfather’s stern face, and felt -the grasp of the corporal press upon his arm. His breath came hard like -a sob, but he managed to force out his answer: “I cannot, sir, I cannot. -You’d better thrust me back into my uncle’s hands. I cannot promise.” - -He was trying to nerve himself to be dragged back to the chamber behind -the guardroom, but though Master Oldesworth’s face grew harder, he only -said, “Bring him along after me,” and led the way down the passage. - -Hugh followed unsteadily, glad of the grasp on his arm that helped to -keep him erect. They had entered the east wing, he noted listlessly; -then he was trudging up the long staircase and stumbling down the -corridor. At the first window recess he saw Master Oldesworth halt and -heard him speak less curtly: “I have indeed to thank you, mistress.” -Raising his eyes as he passed, Hugh saw that by the window, with hands -wrung tight together, Lois Campion was standing. - -Instinctively he tried to halt, but the grip on his arm never relaxed, -and he must come on at his captor’s side, down to the end of the -corridor. There Master Oldesworth had flung open a door into a tiny -chamber, with one high, narrow slit of a window, bare of furniture save -for a couple of chests and a broken chair, over which the dust lay -thick. “Since you will have no better lodging, you shall stay here,” he -said coldly. - -Dragging his way in, Hugh flung himself down on a chest with his head in -his hands. “Could you let me have a drink of water, sir?” he asked -faintly. - -“Go to my chamber and fetch the flask of Spanish wine, Lois,” Master -Oldesworth bade, and Hugh heard the girl’s footsteps die away in the -corridor, then heard or heeded nothing, just sat with his face hidden. - -A touch on the shoulder roused him at last; he took the glass of wine -his grandfather offered him and slowly drank it down. They were alone in -the room now, he noted as he drank, the door was drawn to, and Lois was -gone. He set down the empty glass and leaned forward with his elbows on -his knees. “I thank you, sir, for this, for all you have saved me from,” -he said slowly. - -“You might thank me for more, if you were less self-willed.” - -“’Tis not from self-will, sir, I did as I have done, that I refused my -parole,” Hugh broke out, “’tis for my father. I cannot bind myself. I -must go to him. I—” - -“No more words of that man,” Master Oldesworth silenced him. “You shall -never go to him again. A year ago I dealt not wisely with you. I gave -you choice where you were too young to choose. For all your folly there -are parts in you too good for me to suffer you destroy yourself. Now -where I let you walk at your will I shall see to it that you keep the -right path, by force, if you drive me to it. For the present I shall -hold you in safe custody at Everscombe. Later, as you conduct yourself, -I shall determine what course to take.” - -“But my father!” Hugh cried. - -“Captain Oldesworth will deal with Alan Gwyeth,” Master Oldesworth -replied. “Do you forget him.” - -“I can never forget him, sir. Sure, I’d liefer be hanged with him than -be saved apart from him thus. I—” - -The door closed jarringly behind Master Oldesworth, the key grated in -the lock, and the bolt was shot creakingly. - -For a time Hugh sat staring stupidly at the door of his prison, then, -getting slowly to his feet, he began dragging and shoving the chest -beneath the window. His hands were still unsteady and he felt limp and -weak, so again and again he must pause to sit down. The little room was -close and hot; the perspiration prickled on the back of his neck, and -stung above his eyebrows. The movement of the chest cleared a white -space on the gray floor, and the dust that rose thick sifted into his -mouth and nostrils till he was coughing painfully with a miserable -feeling that it needed but little for the coughing to end in sobbing. He -hated himself for his weakness, and, gritting his teeth, shoved the -chest the more vigorously till at last it was in position beneath the -window. Lifting the one chair upon it, he mounted up precariously; the -sill of the window came level with his collar bone while the top grazed -his forehead. He stretched up his arms and measured the length and -breadth of the opening twice over, but he knew it was quite hopeless; -there was no getting through that narrow window, and, had it been -possible, he must risk a sheer fall of two stories to the flagged walk -below. For a moment he stood blinking out at the green branches of the -elms that swayed before his window, then he dropped to the floor again -and sat down on the chest with his face in his hands. - -So he was still sitting, when the door was unlocked and one of the -serving men of the household came in to fetch him dinner. Hugh looked -up, and, recognizing the fellow, would have spoken, but the man only -shook his head and backed out hastily. Hugh noted that it was no -trooper’s rations they had sent him, but food from his grandfathers -table; still he had no heart to eat, though he drank eagerly, till -presently he reasoned this was weak conduct, for he must keep up -strength if he were ever to come out of his captors’ hands, so, drawing -the plate to him, he resolutely swallowed down a tolerable meal. - -Then he set himself to watch the motes dance in a sunbeam that ran well -up toward the ceiling, but presently it went out altogether. He leaned -back then on the chest where he sat, and perhaps had lost himself a time -in a numb, half-waking sleep, when of a sudden he caught a distant sound -that brought him to his feet. He could not mistake it; off to the east -where Kingsford lay he could hear the faint crack of musketry fired in -volleys. Hugh cried out something in a hoarse voice he did not -recognize; then he was wrenching at the latch and hammering on the door -with his clinched hands, while he shrieked to them to let him go. He saw -the blood smearing out from his knuckles, but he beat on against the -unshaken panels till the strength left him and he dropped down on the -floor. Still, as he lay, he could hear the distant firing, and then he -ground his face down between his hands and cried as he had never cried -before with great sobs that seemed to tear him. - -Afterward there came a long time when he had not strength even to sob, -when the slackening fire meant nothing to him, and, lying motionless and -stupid, he realized only that the light was paling in the chamber. The -door was pushed open, and mechanically he rolled a little out of the way -of it. The serving man he remembered came in with supper, and at sight -of him Hugh lifted up his head and entreated brokenly: “Tell me, what -has happened? Have they taken my father? For the love of Heaven, tell -me.” - -The man hesitated, then, as he passed to the doorway, bent down and -whispered: “They’ve beat the Cavaliers into the church, sir, but they’ve -not taken the captain yet. Lord bless you, don’t cry so, sir.” - -For the sheer nervous relief had set Hugh choking and sobbing again -without pride or strength enough left to hold himself in check. As the -darkness closed in, however, he grew a little calmer, though sheer -exhaustion more than inner comfort held him quiet. His eyes were hot and -smarting, and his throat ached, so he crept over to the chest where the -food was placed, and laying hands on a jug of water gulped down a good -deal and splashed some over his face. After that he stretched himself -again upon the floor, where for pure weariness he dropped at length into -a heavy sleep. - -He awoke in darkness, his blood tingling and his pulses a-jump in a -childish momentary fear at the strangeness of the place and a something -else he could not define. He had recollected his position and laid down -his head again, with a little effort to place himself more comfortably -upon the floor, when there came a second time the noise that must have -wakened him,—a stealthy faint click of the latch, as if the door were -being softly opened. Hugh sprang to his feet and set his back to the -wall, in the best position for defence, if it were some enemy, if it -were Captain Oldesworth came seeking him. The door was opening, he -perceived, as his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. “Who is it?” he -asked in a guarded tone. - -“Hush! ’Tis I, Lois.” - -Hugh caught his breath in a gasp of relief. “Lois, you’ve come to free -me?” he whispered, and, stepping softly to her, fumbled in the dark and -found her hand. - -“Yes, yes. I was afraid for you. I told Master Oldesworth that Peregrine -was bragging how the captain would serve you. He saved you that time. -But ’tis possible the captain will lay hands on you again. I slipped -into Master Oldesworth’s chamber and took the key. I know ’tis wicked; I -care not. Pull off your boots and come away, quick.” - -Noiselessly as he could, Hugh got his boots in his hand and in his -stockinged feet stole out of the chamber. In the corridor it was all -black and still, just as it had been that other time when he ran from -Everscombe, only now Lois was with him, and when the stairs creaked they -pressed close together. Then she went forward boldly, and he, still -half-blinded with sleep, was content to follow the guidance of her hand. -“In here,” she whispered at length, and so led him into the east parlor, -where the great clock still ticked, solemn and unperturbed. “Go out at -the window,” Lois spoke softly; “I dare not open the door. There are a -few men in the house, but they lie in the west wing and the stables. The -bulk are at Kingsford. Northward you will find the way clear.” - -“I am not going northward,” Hugh answered, as he warily pushed open the -casement. “I go to my father now.” - -“Hugh!” The girl’s voice came in a frightened gasp. “I had not released -you— If you come unto them at last— They wish it not— You may be killed! -You shall not do this thing.” - -Leaning from the casement Hugh dropped his boots carefully where the -dark showed an edge of grass bordered the flagged walk; as he set -himself astride the window ledge he spoke: “’Tis just the thing I shall -do, Lois, and the only thing. If you be sorry for what you did, call, if -you will, but I shall jump and run for it.” - -“I shall not call,” she answered. “Oh, I care not who has the right and -wrong of the war. I cannot bear they should hurt you.” - -She was kneeling on the window-bench with her face close to his; he -suddenly bent forward and kissed her. “God bless you for this, Lois,” he -said. - -Then he swung himself over the window ledge, and letting his weight come -on his hands dropped noiselessly to the walk below. He dragged on his -boots, and taking a cautious step across the flagstones slid down the -terrace to the lawn. Once more he glanced back, not at Everscombe manor -house, but at the opened window of the east parlor. It was too dark more -than to distinguish the outline of the casement, but he knew that at the -lattice Lois was still standing to wish him God speed to his father. - - - CHAPTER XXI - THE FATHERHOOD OF ALAN GWYETH - - -The sky was bluish black with heavy masses of clouds, but through a rift -in the west showed a bright star, by which Hugh guessed roughly it must -be within two hours of dawn. Quickening his pace to a run at that, he -came into the shelter of the park, where it was all black, and he went -forward blindly, with one arm thrust up to guard his face. Now and again -he had through the tree-tops a distant sight of the sky, and by it took -his directions; but for the most part he stumbled on haphazard, though -at a brisk pace, for the night was passing rapidly. When at length he -crushed his way through a thicket to the edge of the brook that marked -the bounds of the park, the bright western star had sunk out of sight -behind the trees. - -Beyond the brook he hurried through a tract of woodland, where he bore -to the southward to keep clear of the Kingsford highway and a farmstead -that lay back from it. He came out in a cornfield, where the blades felt -damp against his face as he forced a rustling passage through, and after -that climbed over a wall into the open fields. There were no more houses -to avoid before he reached the village, so with less caution he pressed -on at a good jog-trot. For the night was waning, and Kingsford was still -to come. - -An ominous pale streak showed in the east before him as he climbed the -swell of land that cut off sight of the village. Fearing lest his figure -show up too distinctly against the sky line, he made for a clump of -bushes at the summit, and had just got within their shadow when he -caught the sound of hoof-beats. Dropping flat he dragged himself in -under the bushes, where, peering out between the leaves, he saw the -black bulk of a horseman ride along the slope below him. A little to -Hugh’s left he pulled up and called to another rider a challenge that -reached the boy’s ears quite clearly, then turned and came pacing back. - -They had set a mounted guard about the town, then; and with that Hugh -told himself he must slip past it and quickly, too, or the dawn would be -upon him. But first he waited for the horseman’s return, to know what -was the time between his passing and repassing, and while he waited he -strained his eyes into the dark to get the lay of the land. At the foot -of the rising ground was a hollow, he remembered, and across it, on the -higher land, stood an irregular line of three cottages, beyond which ran -a lane that led by the side wall of the churchyard. Very likely troops -were lodged about the cottages now, perhaps even more patrols in the -hollow, but all he could see was the black depths beneath him and the -outline of the nearest cottage. Then he heard the sound of hoofs loud -again, as once more the horseman on guard rode by below. Hugh could make -out his form far too clearly; dawn was coming, and he durst stay no -longer. - -So soon as the man had turned and paced a rod on his journey back, Hugh -crawled from beneath the bushes and, rolling noiselessly, creeping on -hands and knees, made his way down the hillside. He remembered afterward -the feel of the moist grass in his hands, the look of the mottled dark -sky and the faint stars, and how at a distant hail in the village he -pressed flat on the cold ground. But at last he crawled across a more -level space he judged the bridle path, and scrambled down into the depth -of the hollow, where a chilly mist set him shivering. As he lay -outstretched, resting his weary arms a moment, he heard up above him the -horseman ride by. - -Now that he was within the lines of the patrol only caution and -quickness were necessary. Still on hands and knees, he dragged himself -slowly up the hillside, bearing ever to the south to get behind the -cottages, yet not daring to venture too far, lest he come upon another -line of guards. As he approached the first cottage he rose half erect -and tried a short run, but the bark of a dog made him drop flat in the -grass, where he lay trembling. Next instant, realizing that it was -better to push on, whatever befell, he sprang up and made a dash to the -cover of a hedge behind the second cottage. For now the protection of -the night had nearly left him; he could see clearly the lattices of the -cottage, the whitish line of highway beyond it, and others might see him -as well. But as he crept forward, keeping to the shelter of the hedge, -he looked up, and against the gray sky saw what gave him courage. Above -the farther cottage rose the church tower, and from it stood up a staff -on which fluttered a red flag with a splotch of gold upon it; Captain -Gwyeth and his men still were holding out. - -With renewed hope Hugh worked his way past the hedge to the shelter of -an outbuilding, not a rod from the lane that ran white beneath the lich -wall. He could see the church clearly now, the scowling small windows, -the close side door, and the gravestones on the slope below. There was -little prospect of welcome, he was reckoning anxiously, as he lay -crouched against the outbuilding, when suddenly he heard a cry: “Stand, -there!” Off to his right in the lane he beheld a Roundhead sentinel -halted with his piece levelled. - -Springing to his feet Hugh dashed across the grass plot to the lane. On -the left he heard hoof-beats, then a cry: “Shoot him down!” A bullet -struck the sand at his feet; he heard men running, and another shot. He -heard, too, the crunch of crisp weeds beneath his boots as he crashed -into the overgrown tangle beyond the lane. He felt the rough stones on -the top of the wall, then he had flung himself clear across it, and was -struggling up the slope among the graves. His boots were heavy and -hampered him, and his breath seemed gone. He looked up to the dead -windows of the church and tried to cry: “King’s men! To the rescue!” but -what sound he could make was lost in the din behind him. A bullet struck -on a headstone just to one side; then of a sudden came a numbing pain in -his left arm. He staggered, stumbled blindly a pace; then the sky was -rolled up like a gray scroll, the stars were dancing before his eyes, -and he was down flat upon the ground. Lifting his head dizzily he had a -dim sight of the lane below, men swarming from the cottages, and one he -saw leap the wall and come running toward him. Hugh’s head dropped back -on the ground; he saw the sky pale above and waited for the butt of his -pursuer’s musket to crash down upon him, and prayed it might not be long -to wait. - -They were still firing, he heard; and he heard, too, quick footsteps -behind him and a man breathing fast. He was swung up bodily from the -ground, and there came a voice he knew: “Your arm round my neck, so. -Have no fear, Hugh; I’ve got you safe.” - -There was firing still and faint cheering; the rest darkness; but before -it closed in on him Hugh had one blurred glimpse of a strong, blue-eyed -face above him, and he knew it was his father who held him. - -The light returned to Hugh in a dim and unfamiliar place; high above -him, as he lay on his back, he had sight of a vaulted roof full of -shadows. His head felt heavy and dazed, so he did not care to stir or -speak, just closed his eyes again. There had been faces about him, he -remembered vaguely, and he felt no surprise when he heard a voice that -was unmistakably Ridydale’s: “He’s coming round, sir.” - -They were pressing a wet cloth to his forehead, Hugh judged, and his -head was aching so he tried to thrust up his arm to stop them. -“Let—me—alone,” he forced the words out faintly, and opened his eyes. It -was his father who was bathing his head, he saw, and remembering what -brought him thither his mind went back to the formal message he had -framed on the way from Tamworth. “Captain Gwyeth, Sir William Pleydall -bade me deliver word, he will send you relief; it shall come to-morrow.” - -“Saxon, take that word to Lieutenant von Holzberg,” Captain Gwyeth’s -voice came curtly. “Spread it through the troop that help is -coming.—Spare farther speaking now, Hugh; I understand.” - -Hugh closed his eyes heavily and lay quiet. He felt a wet cloth tied -round his head, and then he winced through all his body as a knife -ripped halfway up his sleeve. “Thank Heaven, ’tis only a clean flesh -wound,” he heard the captain say. “Nay, Jack, I’ll hold him. Do you -bandage it.” - -Hugh felt himself lifted up till his head rested against the captain’s -shoulder. Half opening his eyes he had a confused sight down the nave of -the church, only now it seemed unfamiliar, for the pews were torn from -their places and piled up against the great entrance door. Up and down -by the walls men were pacing, and some lay silent on the floor of the -choir, and some he heard groaning as they lay. Then he closed his eyes -and clinched his teeth, for his arm was aching rarely, so the lightest -touch made him shrink. He wondered if the bandages they were putting on -would never end, and if he could keep on biting down all sign of pain, -when at last Ridydale spoke: “There, sir, ’tis done the best I could. If -we only had water to wash the hurt properly!” - -That suggested to Hugh that his mouth was dry, so he said under his -breath: “I am thirsty.” - -“If there be a drop of water in the place, fetch it,” Captain Gwyeth -bade; and a moment later Hugh’s head was lifted up and a cup set to his -lips. It was brackish water, and very little at that; he swallowed it -with one gulp, and opened his eyes to look for more. “Nay, that’s the -last,” the captain spoke out. “’Tis an ill lodging you have taken with -us. I would to God you were elsewhere!” - -With the scant power of his returning strength, Hugh tried to move clear -of the arm that was about him. “I had hoped, this time, you would not be -sorry to see me,” he broke out, in a voice that quavered in spite of -himself. - -He heard the captain give a sharp order to Ridydale to be off, and he -felt it was to save the dignity which had almost slipped from him. He -put his head down on the captain’s shoulder again. “Father, you are glad -to have me, after all,” he said softly. - -He felt the sudden tension of the arm that drew him closer, though when -Captain Gwyeth spoke, his tone was of the driest: “After the trouble -I’ve had to get hold of you, do you not think ’tis reasonable I should -be glad?” Then he cut short all response with a hasty: “Lie you down -here now and be quiet. You’ve been knocked just enough for you to make a -fool of yourself if you try to talk.” - -Hugh grinned weakly, and suffered his father to put him down with his -head upon a folded cloak. “I’ll send Ridydale to have an eye to you,” -the captain said in a low tone, “and if anything happens, I’ll be near.” -Then he rose and tramped away down the nave of the church, but Hugh, -watching him through half-shut eyes, saw him halt to glance back. - -After that Hugh lay a long time in a heavy, half-waking state, where he -listened to the slow pacing up and down of those about him who kept -guard, and to the quicker step of men who, on other errands, hastened -across the reëchoing church; he heard men shout orders across the aisles -or nearer to him speak in curt monosyllables; and he heard, too, all the -time, the labored groaning of one who must lie somewhere near. Then -there were moments when, losing all sounds, he drifted off into an -unknown world, where he lived over again the happenings of the last -hours, and struggled in the water of the Arrow, and fought Oldesworth’s -troopers, and made the last run through the churchyard under the -Roundhead fire. - -It was a relief to come back to consciousness and find himself lying -comfortably on the floor of the choir with the dark roof far above him. -A glint of purple sunlight from a broken window wavered on the ground -beside him, and, forcing his mind to follow one train of thought, he -contrived at last to reason out that it must be past noon. Pulling -himself up on his sound arm, he tried to look about the church, but the -effort made his head ache so he was glad to lie down. But he had got -sight of Ridydale, who stood on a bench beneath one of the tall windows -in speech with a trooper, and after a moment’s rest he called the -corporal by name. - -Ridydale stepped down, carabine in hand, and came to Hugh’s side. “Is -there anything you’ll be wanting, sir?” he began. - -“Yes,” Hugh replied, “I’d take it kindly of you if you’d just tell me -what hit me that time.” - -Ridydale grinned and settled himself close by on the steps of the altar -with his carabine across his knees. “’Tis all very simple, Master Hugh,” -he explained. “They wasted a deal of lead trying to wing you,—they’re -clumsy marksmen, those Roundhead cowherds. Somehow, by good luck, they -contrived to shoot you in the arm. I take it you stumbled on one of -those sunken stones, then, for you went down and broke your head against -another gravestone.” - -“Was that it?” Hugh asked, in some mortification. - -“And then the colonel stepped out and fetched you in. We had sight of -you, those that were keeping the west windows, as you came down to the -lane. ‘It’s Hugh,’ says the colonel, sharplike; ‘unbar the door.’ Soon -as we had the barrier tore down, and we made short work of it, he out -after you. ’Twas a most improper thing, too,” Ridydale grumbled; -“captain of a troop to risk himself under a fire like that for a mere -volunteer. When there were others ready enough to go out. Maybe you were -too flustered, sir, to note what a pretty shot I had at the knave who -followed you over the wall?” - -Hugh confessed he had missed that sight. - -“Ay, ’twas not a shot to be ashamed of,” the corporal resumed, pulling -his mustache with much satisfaction. “’Twas brisk give and take we were -having then, sir. The colonel had a bullet through the skirts of his -coat ere he got you within the church. Ay, ’twas improper conduct of -him. What would have become of us all, tell me now, had he been hurt?” - -“Why, just the same that will become of you now he is not hurt,” the -captain struck in crisply as he came up. “Tell me, Hugh, did it commend -itself to the sapience of Sir William Pleydall to say what time Saturday -we might look for relief?” - -“No, sir.” - -“Perhaps it does not matter to him whether it gets here at sunrise or -sunset,” the captain remarked dispassionately. “It makes a mighty deal -of difference to us, though.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and -stood staring up at the broken window where the sun came through. In the -strong light Hugh noted how haggard his face looked about the eyes, and -how three days of neglect showed in the red-gold beard. But when the -captain turned from the window there was a laugh in his eyes. “Jack,” he -addressed Ridydale, who was standing at attention, “what devilry do you -suppose Tommy Oldesworth is at now that he keeps so quiet?” - -“Shall I try a shot to stir him up, sir?” the corporal proffered. - -“Not for your life, Jack. Go rest you, while they let us.” - -As Ridydale strode off, Captain Gwyeth, with a soberer look, set himself -down in his place. “You ought to know, Hugh, that we’re in a bad way,” -he spoke out in a brusque, low tone. - -“There’s help coming,” Hugh answered stoutly, and dragged himself up on -one elbow so he could rest against the steps beside his father. - -“Ay, but it must be quick,” the captain replied, “for Oldesworth is hot -upon us. He came hither this morning under the white flag to advise us -surrender to his mercy ere he batter down our walls.” - -“Ordnance?” Hugh asked blankly. - -“He may bring it from Warwick. Our only hope is that he may be so long -in the bringing it— Well, he’s bravely worried that you got in to us, -else he’d not have offered us terms. He’s troubled about that relief; -and, faith, I’m troubled, too. The men will hold out another twenty-four -hours in the hope, but we’ve had neither food nor drink since yesterday -afternoon. And we are scant thirty men now, and there are six with -disabling wounds besides.” - -“Couldn’t I make one in the fighting?” Hugh ventured hesitatingly. “I -might not be able to steady a carabine with one hand, but I could load—” - -“Then we could not use you long,” the captain said, with a dry laugh. -“That’s the crowning curse of it all, Hugh; there’s not above three -bullets left to a man.” - -Hugh gazed down the dismantled church, where the pews were all turned to -sorry defences and the windows were shattered with the rebel balls. He -noted, too, the set, weary faces of the nearest men on guard, and -something of the hopelessness of the whole position came home to him. -His face must have shown his thought, for the captain suddenly put a -hand on his shoulder. “That’s why I’m sorry you are here,” he said -briefly. - -“I care not for that,” Hugh choked, “but if they do not bring aid in -time,—Peregrine said they would hang you.” - -“Peregrine?” the captain queried. “Tut, tut! He should be old enough by -now to know a gentleman does not let himself be taken and hanged while -he has weapons in his hands. Though I knew from the start ’twould be a -fight to the death if ever I came sword to sword with the Oldesworths.” -There was a space of silence, then he broke out: “I suppose they taught -you I was a scoundrel, did they not?” - -“At the last, yes, my grandfather said it,” Hugh admitted, “but while my -mother lived she told me only good of you.” - -“Then, she had forgiven me?” the captain asked in a low tone. - -Hugh’s eyes were not on him, but straying across the church to where the -great Oldesworth pew had stood; even at that distance he seemed to read -on the tablet set in the wall the name, “Ruth Gwyeth.” “She did not hold -there was anything to forgive; she said the wrong had all been hers,” he -broke out; “she said you were the best and noblest gentleman that ever -lived, and far too good for her.” - -“Poor lass, poor lass!” the captain said under his breath; he was -sitting with one hand shielding his eyes, Hugh noted, but of a sudden he -looked down at the boy and spoke curtly: “So you came seeking me, -believing all that, and then I thrust you out of doors?” - -Hugh nodded without looking at his father; he was conscious of a queer, -shamed feeling, as if he had been himself at fault. - -“Yet you stood up before that hound Bellasis and took that hack in the -face for me. I used you like a villain, Hugh,” the captain blurted out; -“even Ruth could not forgive me for it. But, lad, if we come alive from -this, I’ll strive to make you forget it.” - -“I am forgetting now,” Hugh said honestly. “And if you’d looked as if -you wanted me, I’d ha’ come to you before.” - -“I did want you. And you waited for me to look it, did you? I’m thinking -we’re something alike, lad.” He put his arm about the boy’s neck with a -sudden, half rough caress. “Turner said you had as decent a courage as -most lads and a bit more sense,” he broke out. “Faith, I believe him. -And if we come through here you shall have a chance to show it to every -man in the troop, yes, to the same fellows that flogged you.” - -Hugh edged a little nearer his father. “I’d do my best to show them; I’d -like the chance,” he answered; then added thoughtfully, “Though, after -all, I am not sorry for that flogging. If I’d not known some hard knocks -already, they might have been able to frighten me yesterday.” - -There he stopped, unavailingly, for the captain pounced down on him and -did not rest till he got the whole history of the last hours. Hugh put -all the emphasis he could on Master Oldesworth and on Lois, but -Peregrine and Thomas Oldesworth were dragged in at the captain’s -urgence, and the captain’s face grew ominous. “’Twas not clean dealings -on Tom Oldesworth’s part,” he said betwixt his teeth. “Well, when it -comes to the last we’ll remember it against him.” - -With that he got up to go about his business, but presently strode back -with a cushion. “Put that under your head, Hugh,” he bade, and taking up -the cloak helped the boy wrap it round him. “You’ll find it cold here in -the church as soon as the sun goes down,” he explained. “Try to sleep, -though; get what strength you can against to-morrow.” - -After he had gone, Hugh settled himself to sleep, but it took a time, -for his arm ached relentlessly, and his head was hot and his mouth dry. -Moment after moment he lay staring down the dusky church, where the -twilight was filling in, and harked to the slow step of those on guard. -The shades had gathered dark, and his eyes were closing, when he -realized that the man who had been groaning in the transept was quiet -now. He guessed what that meant, and something of the ugliness of death -came home to him. He sat up eagerly to look for some companionship, then -felt ashamed and lay down again to listen and listen once more, and -think on Peregrine’s threats and Thomas Oldesworth’s set, implacable -face. When he went to sleep at last his kinsmen followed him, even -through his dreams. - -Dreams, recollections, of a sudden all were blotted out. He was sitting -up, he knew, in a place that save for two feeble flickers of light was -pitchy black, he heard men running and shouting, and, over all and -subduing all, he heard a crash, crash which he judged bewilderedly to be -of cannonading. The roof must fall soon, he feared, and scrambling to -his feet he ran forward into the darkness and tumult. Above the uproar -he caught Captain Gwyeth’s voice, steady and distinct: “Lieutenant von -Holzberg, your squadron to their stations at the windows. Corporal -Ridydale, take six men and bear the wounded down into the crypt.” - -Following the voice, Hugh stumbled into the transept and, getting used -to the dark, had a vague sight of his father, who, with his hands behind -him, stood giving orders to right and left. Hugh leaned against the wall -close by and kept his hand to his head that throbbed and beat with each -stroke of the cannon and shake of the building. During a lull in the -firing he caught the captain’s voice in a lower key: “You here, Hugh?” - -“I—I take it I was frightened up,” he stammered. “You’ll help me to a -sword before the end?” - -“No need for that yet,” Captain Gwyeth answered. “They’ll not be able to -batter in these walls for hours. And by then—” His voice took a curious -change of tone: “You are sure, Hugh, they made no mention of what time -Saturday the aid would come?” - -“No, none,” Hugh replied; “but ’twill surely come, sir. Dick promised.” - -“Well, well, we’ve much to hope,” said the captain, “and, faith, that’s -all we can do now. Sit down here, Hugh,” he went on, leading him over to -the pulpit stairs. “I’ve a notion ’twould be pleasing if I could lay -hands on you when I want you.” - -Then he went back into the din and confusion of the nave, and Hugh, -leaning his head against the balustrade, harked dazedly to the -successive boom of cannon. Through it all he found space in his heart to -be glad that his father had not suggested sending him down into the -crypt with the other wounded. - -Out through a shattered window to the east he had sight of a strip of -sky, uneven with clouds, and some small stars. Little by little they -paled while he sat there, and still the guns kept up their clamor. Once, -after the shot, came a great rattling, and a piece of stone crashed down -from the western wall; Hugh heard a confused running in that direction, -and the captains voice that checked it. Once again, when oddly he had -fallen into a numb sort of doze, came another shattering crash, and -right upon it a man screamed out in a way that made Hugh shudder and -choke. After that he dozed no more, but rigid and upright sat listening. - -It was light enough to distinguish faces when at length Captain Gwyeth, -with his brows drawn and his teeth tugging at one end of his mustache, -came up to him. “I’ve a sling here for that arm of yours,” he said -brusquely, beginning to fasten the bandage. “’Twould be in your way for -any fighting purposes. And here’s a sword. You may have to use it, -unless our friends come quickly.” Then he paused a time by Hugh, not -speaking, but scowling upon the floor, and at last strode moodily away. - -The light broadened and brightened within the church; a patch of -sunshine gleamed upon the floor, and through an east window Hugh could -catch the rays of yellow light glinting across the sombre leaves of the -yew tree. It was a rare, warm, August day, a strange time for a life and -death struggle, he told himself, as he drew the sword clumsily from its -scabbard. Then he looked to the western wall of the church, where the -light was smiting in now at a great gap and the crumbled stones lay -scattered across the floor. Up above he saw a broken fragment of the -roof that hung and swayed so its motion fascinated him. Of a sudden, as -he gazed stupidly, he became aware the cannonading had ceased, and he -wondered that he had not marked it before. Then he heard again his -father’s curt, quick tones, and saw the troopers quit their stations to -gather opposite the gap in the wall. - -Getting to his feet, Hugh went down to join the others. At the west door -he perceived Von Holzberg standing with six men, but he passed on into -the nave of the church. There at the gap the men had fallen into double -line, a battered, haggard little company, some in their breastpieces, -some in their shirt-sleeves. There were bandaged arms and bandaged heads -among them, Hugh noted, but the carabines were all in hand, and each had -his sword, too, ready at his side. Captain Gwyeth was with Ridydale, -peering out at the gap in the wall, but now he turned to his men. “As -you see, they have made a practicable breach in our walls,” he began. -“Now they have it in mind to storm us, and afterward knock us o’ the -head. So it behooves you fight for your worthless skins. And in any -case, if they destroy us, see to it a good crew of these cursed rebels -go to hell before us.” - -Then he looked about till his eyes fell on Hugh, and, coming to him, he -took him by the shoulder and brought him over to front the troop. Hugh -faced the men he had once served, and he saw Unger on the farther end of -the front line, and Saxon, with his head tied up, and Jeff Hardwyn, who -looked at him and fumbled with his carabine. Somehow his eyes rested on -Hardwyn, as the captain began speaking briskly: “I’m thinking some of -you know this gentleman, my son. He has risked his neck twice to break -through the lines and share this fight with us. So I set him in Cornet -Foster’s place, and you will follow him as your officer. Cornet Gwyeth, -you will take six men and make good the north door.” - -Right on that, some one, Hugh guessed it was Saxon, broke into a cheer, -which the others took up. Under cover of the noise, Captain Gwyeth, -still holding Hugh by the shoulder, whispered him hurriedly: “When they -come in, and we have the last fight, try to get to me. We’ll fight it -out back to back, if it be God’s will.” - -Just there Ridydale, standing by the breach in the wall, spoke: “Captain -Gwyeth, the rebels are advancing up the hill.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXII - AFTER THE VICTORY - - -In the moments while the besieged held their fire, a hush came upon the -church. Hugh could hear the footfalls startlingly loud as he led his -squadron briskly to the main door, but it did not seem it was himself -who went forward. He saw the floor slip by him and heard his own tread, -but it was in an impersonal way, as if it were another man who was to -fight that last fight, while he stood by, unmoved and unaffected, and -watched and passed judgment. Before him now he saw the entrance door, -with the broken pews heaped in a stiff barricade; to the right, beneath -the window, the ends of the barrier furnished some foothold, so he -started to scramble up and reconnoitre. His injured arm made him -awkward; at the first step he tottered, and was glad that one of his -followers caught him about the body to steady him. Glancing down he saw -that it was Hardwyn, but he felt no surprise; everything now was beyond -wonder. “Keep hold on me, Corporal,” he said, as if Hardwyn had never -been any but his obedient underling, and made a move to step to the next -projection. - -Just there the heavy stillness of the church was broken by a jarring -rattle of carabine fire that sent a cracking echo through the high roof. -Looking over his shoulder Hugh saw gray smoke belch across the nave, and -saw the ordered movement of the men as the second line, with their -carabines raised, stepped forward to the breach. Right as he looked the -second volley rolled out, and there came a cracked and dry-throated -cheering from the men. “Four volleys left,” he heard Hardwyn beside him -mutter. “Best cheer while we can.” - -Once more there was a lull, and Hugh, getting his sound hand on the -window ledge, pulled himself up, balancing precariously upon the broken -boards, and peered out. He could see the white walk that ran up to the -porch, and on either hand the untroubled graves, but he beheld no enemy -astir. Venturing to lean a little from the window, he saw the roadway -beyond the church wall, the arch of the bridge, the water beneath, -bright in the sun, and across it the slope of hillside road. There -Hugh’s eyes rested, and then his voice came high and shrill so he -scarcely knew it: “Hardwyn, look, look you there! What is coming?” - -Hardwyn was elbowing him at the window; through the crash of the fourth -volley he heard the barrier creak under the weight of the rest of the -little squadron as they pressed up about him. But he did not take his -eyes from the hilltop till, black and clear against the sky, a moving -line of horse swung into view. - -“Cavalry, sir,” spoke Hardwyn, imperturbably, but Hugh had already -turned from the window. “Run to the captain, Saxon,” he cried. “Tell him -they are coming. Relief, relief!” His voice rose to a shout that carried -through the church, and his squadron took up the cry, and ended with a -cheer that spread even to the fighters at the breach. - -Through the uproar sounded Captain Gwyeth’s voice: “If they will have -it, out at them!” - -The besieged swarmed forth at the breach, and Hugh, plunging headlong -down off the barrier, ran to join them. The stones slipped noisily -beneath his feet, and as he stumbled over the crest of the debris he -turned his ankle. Outside the hot blur of sunshine dazzled him; he was -conscious of light, light all around him, and men, grappling, clubbing, -stabbing, in a tumult that bewildered his brain. Loud amidst the shrieks -and oaths and cries for quarter rattled the crack, crack of carabines -and small arms, but through it all he could hear the hollow thud, thud -of horses thundering across the bridge. Some one struck at him, and -instinctively he defended himself, though it was hard to swing a sword -in the press. Then, getting sight of his father’s red head, clear from -the breach in the thick of the fight, he forced his way down to his -side. At the foot of the fallen stones he stumbled over a man and, as he -recovered himself, came one who tried to strike him with a clubbed -musket. Hugh ducked, and, as he bent, saw the trampled grass beneath his -feet, then, thrusting low, came away unscathed. Still he heard the thud, -thud of coming horses, and now, too, he caught clearly from the -undistinguishable shouts and yells the cry: “For a king! God and the -king!” - -Hugh had one glimpse of horsemen leaping the low wall; then he was -guarding himself from the slashes of a Roundhead trooper, and only just -saved his head. He gave the man back an undercut, when suddenly the -fellow cast the sword from his hand. “I yield me, sir. Quarter!” he -cried. - -Hugh paused, and, glancing about him now, saw the battle was indeed -over. Down in the road troopers in red sashes were guarding the way, and -men of the same color were swarming up through the churchyard, but there -was no resistance, save here and there where single conflicts were still -contested to the end. Then Hugh spied Alan Gwyeth, picking himself up -from the grass at the foot of the shattered wall, and he ran thither, -just as the captain dragged to his feet the man with whom he had been -grappling. It was Thomas Oldesworth, Hugh saw, with the dirt grimed into -his coat and his face streaming blood; he stood unsteadily with one hand -pressed to his side, but his lips were hard set as ever. “Take him -within the church and look to him,” the captain bade Ridydale, and then -there was no room for thought of the vanquished, for Captain Turner came -riding comfortably up the slope and hailed them: “Good day to you, -Captain Gwyeth. Is there enough of the troop left to pay us for posting -hither to rescue you?” - -“Rescue be hanged!” said the captain, ungraciously, as he stood wiping -the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. “We could a held out three -hours longer.” - -“Vour hours und more,” put in the stolid Von Holzberg, and such of the -troop as had gathered thither murmured a resentful assent. - -“Well, well, I crave all your pardons for coming so inopportunely,” -Turner answered dryly, and then: “So that lad of yours got through in -safety? Better go look for Lieutenant Strangwayes, Master Gwyeth; I -think he’s troubled about you. He has ridden on the trail of the rebels -a piece.” - -Hugh started down the slope, but, chancing to glance back, saw Michael -Turner had dismounted, and he and Captain Gwyeth were embracing each -other amicably. Then he went on down the sunny hillside, and across one -mound saw a man lying motionless on his back, and down by the wall one -who, pulling himself up on his elbow, called for water. But Hugh could -give him no heed, for up the white, hot roadway he saw a squadron -coming, and at its head a black horse that he knew. He scrambled up on -the low wall and stood staring and meaning to call, but could not find -voice till the black horse had shot out from the bulk of the squadron, -and Dick Strangwayes had reined up by the wall. “Hugh! And safe?” he -asked in a low tone. - -Hugh came down off the wall and reached up to grasp Dick’s hand. “Safe, -I think; I’m not sure yet. And, Dick, ’tis all well now between my -father and me.” Then he stood a moment with his head leaning against -Black Boy’s neck, and gazed up into Dick’s face and the dazzle of blue -sky beyond, but found nothing he could say. - -“So you’re alive, old Hugh?” came Frank’s voice behind him. “Faith, -you’re a lucky lad. Here’s your bay horse I borrowed, turn and turn -about. You can ride him back, for we’ll have enough and to spare.” - -There they must break off speech, for Turner, leading his horse -carefully, came down from the church and with him Captain Gwyeth. “Call -the troop to saddle again, Lieutenant,” Turner ordered; “we’ll ride for -Everscombe and entreat these people give the captain back his horses.” - -“I’ll ride with you,” spoke Alan Gwyeth; “I want to see the house -again.” Then he turned to Hugh and asked in a low tone: “You say ’twas -your grandfather took you out of Captain Oldesworth’s hands?” - -“Yes, sir. He sent me dinner, too, though I was not feeling hungry -then.” - -The captain smiled a bit. “I’ll remember it to his credit,” he said. -“Now keep you quiet at the church and save your hurt arm.” He walked off -to mount upon a spare horse, and Hugh watched him till he rode away with -Turner’s troop. - -As he was clambering back over the wall into the graveyard, Frank came -panting in his trail. “Captain Turner bade me stay with you,” he -announced; “sure, he has less liking to me as a volunteer than as an -officer.” - -“Nonsense! ’Tis only that he does not wish to take you home wounded. And -if they find The Jade at Everscombe they’ll bring her—” - -“Oh, I have The Jade safe already,” Frank answered cheerfully, as he -kept step with Hugh up into the churchyard; “they found her grazing in -the fields beyond Tamworth yesterday morning with her stirrups flapping -loose. Dick shut his mouth then as he does on occasion, and before -nightfall Turner’s and Leveson’s men got off to bring help. I know not -how they’ll do without us,” he went on, “for Captain Marston’s troop was -the only one recalled to Tamworth. But we are to make a forced march -back to-night, if ’tis in our horses. And that reminds me, Hugh, you’re -not fit to be trusted with a good piece of horse-flesh. The Jade has -strained the tendons of her near foreleg, and her coat is rough as a -last year’s stubble-field. Not but I’m glad she could serve you,” Frank -corrected himself with tardily remembered courtesy. “And, faith, I am -glad as Dick that you are still alive.” - -Up in the church, whither the wounded and prisoners were being brought, -Hugh reported himself to Von Holzberg, who despatched him with a squad -to forage out food in the village. The Roundheads had already stripped -it pretty clean, but in an hour’s time Hugh secured enough for his -father’s hungry troop, and, leaving Frank idling in the village street, -led his men back to the church. In the shade outside several of Gwyeth’s -troop, battered and weary, were easing themselves with grumbling that -they had not been suffered to come share in the plunder of Everscombe. -The word put it in Hugh’s head that now he had eaten and felt a bit like -himself he would gladly ride to the manor house and, if he could, thank -his grandfather for the kindness he had thought to show him. With that -intention he passed into the church to seek Von Holzberg and get his -permission for the journey. - -At first, as he came from the bright sunlight, the shadows within the -church blinded him, but he could hear the sorry groaning of injured men, -and presently made out that the wounded were laid in the transept before -him. It was an ugly, pitiful sight, and knowing his helplessness to aid -he passed on quickly into the choir, where he had caught sight of -Ridydale. Once more the corporal was seated with his carabine on the -altar stairs, but he now had on his grimmest look, for down in Hugh’s -old place lay Captain Oldesworth. They must have looked to his hurts -somewhat, for the blood had been washed from his face, and his coat was -flung open as if his side had been bandaged; he lay quiet now, with his -eyes closed and his lips white, but Hugh, remembering how mercilessly -the man had dealt by him, told himself he did not pity him. Without -heeding the captain he stepped over to Ridydale and asked him where -Lieutenant von Holzberg might be found. “He has just passed down into -the nave, Master Hugh,” said Ridydale relaxing his grimness a trifle. -“Crave your pardon, sir, I should have called you Cornet Gwyeth now.” - -“Perhaps not yet,” Hugh answered discreetly; “Sir William Pleydall will -have a word to say in the matter.” - -“Humph!” Ridydale retorted conclusively. “Hasn’t Colonel Gwyeth said you -were his cornet? What more would you have?” - -Hugh laughed, and was turning away, when he perceived that Captain -Oldesworth had opened his eyes and was watching him; he halted short and -waited, for he would not be the first to speak. “So it’s your day now,” -Oldesworth began, in an even tone that might be construed a dozen ways. - -“Fortune of war, sir,” Hugh answered coldly. - -“You got in, after all,” the captain pursued, with something like a -groan. “That comes of letting a civilian meddle with military matters. -If you had remained in my hands—” There he broke off. “I crave your -forgiveness, sir,” he finished, with a bitterness that angered Hugh, yet -moved him to something faintly like compassion, “I had forgot; a -prisoner should be circumspect in speech.” - -It was on Hugh’s tongue to retort that Cavalier gentlemen were not wont -to mishandle their prisoners, but he thought on Dennis Butler, and that -speech was silenced. He merely said: “My father will not abuse you, -sir,” and had half a mind to pass on, when Oldesworth struggled up on -his elbow. “Tell me one thing, Hugh,” he broke out as if against his -will, “has Peregrine been taken?” - -“No, sir, not here at Kingsford.” - -Oldesworth sank down again with his head on his arm. “He ran away, -then,” he said in a constrained voice. “He should have come in with the -other squadron. We need not have been so cut to pieces had the whole -troop been there. Lieutenant Ingram came in with me; he was killed at -the breach. And Peregrine ran away.” He paused a moment, then spoke half -to himself, “If I come free again I’ll strip him out of his commission -for this.” - -Hugh dropped on one knee beside his uncle. “I pray you, sir, take it not -so to heart,” he urged, “mayhap ’twas not that he ran away—” - -“Nay, I know Peregrine,” Captain Oldesworth answered. “I would ’twere he -had turned Cavalier and you had stayed Roundhead; you’d not have slunk -off to save your skin.” But next moment he spoke in his bitterest tone: -“Nay, get you hence, lad. I don’t want your pity; I’d liefer have your -hate.” Then he turned his face to the wall, still with his mouth hard -set, and closed his eyes. - -There was nothing more to be said, Hugh saw, so he came to his feet -slowly, with a feeling that after all he was sorry for Oldesworth, in -his pain and bitter humiliation, much though he had deserved it. He -turned again to Ridydale and said under his breath: “Corporal, if you -love me put on a less appalling face and use the gentleman more civilly. -After all, he is my kinsman.” - -Then he walked away to seek Von Holzberg, and, getting his permission to -ride to Everscombe, routed out Saxon to make ready Bayard and two other -horses, while he went in search of Frank, for whom he had a feeling of -responsibility. Not finding him at first, he was a bit worried till, -chancing to step into one of the deserted cottages, he came upon the -lad, curled up snugly on a settle and fast asleep. He jumped to his feet -in a hurry as Hugh’s hand was laid on his forehead, and after a first -bewildered stare put on a great assumption of alertness and came -stumbling out into the roadway. “You see, we were in the saddle all -yesternight,” he found tongue to explain, as the two boys, with Saxon in -their wake, rode out from Kingsford. “So perhaps ’tis no great blame I -just shut my eyes a moment. But, Hugh, I’d take it kindly if you did not -tell Dick I went to sleep for so little. And by no means let Captain -Turner know.” - -Hugh promised soberly, then, as they trotted along the highway, relapsed -into heavy silence. But Frank still chattered on gayly, insisting on a -rejoinder: “How does it seem to come home thus? Sure, you’re a dutiful -lad to ride this distance to see your grandfather.” - -Hugh blinked at Bayard’s erect ears, and told himself in dull fashion -that while he was at Everscombe he would see Lois again and thank her, -but he did not hold it necessary to speak it all to Frank. - -A little patrol of horse guarded the park gate, but knowing Hugh they -suffered him pass through with his companions. For all the roadway was -cut with horse hoofs they ventured a brisk trot, and so came speedily -out into the open, and following the track across the lawn drew up by -the west wing. The rest of the house was silent, but here were stationed -two sentinels of Turner’s troop, a wagon had just been brought lumbering -to the door, and from within the long guardroom Strangwayes himself -hailed them: “Get off your horse, and come in, Master Cornet. I’ve -recovered my cuirass from the plunder of these crop-eared thieves, and -I’m thinking I’ve lighted on your buff coat and sword.” - -Sliding off his horse, Hugh strode briskly into the big room. At one -side a long table had been hastily set forth, at which a squad of -Turner’s men were making a nondescript meal, but the rest of the hall -was littered with arms and accoutrements that the troopers were still -fetching in noisily; they must have stripped the manor house of every -warlike furnishing. “Yes, the work is near done, and we can be off,” -Strangwayes said low to Hugh. “Sure, I’m not the man will be sorry. Did -you know, my lad, there’s a harder thing than storming a town, and -that’s to keep your troop from stealing the town after you’ve taken it? -As ’tis a sort of family matter Captain Gwyeth is loath to have this -house plundered, so we’ve done our best. But it’s well Leveson’s thieves -have been used in clearing the stable; our own men have held the house, -and they are the best and most obedient in the regiment. I’ve knocked -down one or two of them, and put three under arrest, and promised a few -floggings, but barring that they’ve been good as lambs and not stole -from the house more than each man can hide in his pockets. Trust them? -I’d trust my troop anywhere, that I had my eyes on it,” he concluded -lugubriously. “But now I’m going to risk taking one eye off them and -leave Griffith to see the spoils loaded in the wagons, while I tie up -your hurts again.” - -Accordingly, Strangwayes sent men running for water and bandages, and, -putting Hugh on a bench against the wall, was dressing his head and arm, -when Captain Gwyeth came in. Hugh caught sight of him as he paused an -instant in the doorway, and at the changed expression of the man’s face -a sudden fear struck him, for it came home to him that, though the -captain forgave the son who had defied him, he might never forgive the -son’s friend who had threatened to bar the door upon him. It was a new -thought, and it checked Hugh’s first impulsive movement to rise to meet -his father; instead he moved a bit nearer Dick. There was an instant’s -dangerous silence, then Master Frank, nodding half-asleep at Hugh’s -side, perceived Captain Gwyeth and ran to him. “Why, this is a lucky -meeting,” he cried, leading the captain over to the bench. “And did I -not tell you, sir, when once you were acquainted with Hugh, he was a -right friendly, generous fellow for all his stubborn face?” - -That made Dick turn and come to his feet, stiff and respectful. “Maybe -’twill please you look to Hugh’s hurt now, sir,” he said, with a slight -bow. - -“Nay, you’ve looked to his hurts before this, Lieutenant,” the captain -said slowly. “You’ve the right to do so now.” He hesitated, then held -out his hand, and Strangwayes took it. - -Next moment Strangwayes was tying the bandage about Hugh’s arm again, -while he talked briskly with Captain Gwyeth of the ill ride they had had -from Tamworth, and the worse ride they were like to have back, to which -the captain replied with a satisfied account of the good spoil of horses -and arms they had made in compensation for those lost at the first -overthrow of his troop. “So soon as the carts are laden, you are to quit -the house, so Captain Turner bids,” Captain Gwyeth finished in an -everyday tone. “We must be out of the village before sunset.” - -Then as Strangwayes, ending his surgery, jumped to his feet to aid -Griffith in superintending the loading, the captain turned to Hugh: “I -bade you stay rest at the church, but since you’ve taken your way and -come hither you can do me service.” He dropped his voice a little, -though they were screened well enough under the racket of the men who -were carrying forth the captured arms: “Get you to the east wing of the -house, where the family have withdrawn, and, if you can, procure access -to Master Oldesworth. He denied it unto me. Tell him from me that it is -for the sake of his daughter and his daughter’s son that I have saved -his house from utter spoil to-day. And tell him that I will use Tom -Oldesworth better than he deserves, and exert my influence to have him -speedily exchanged. That’s all.” - -Hugh passed out through the confusion to the front of the house, where -the carts were loading, and with a rather dubious foreboding crossed the -terrace to the east wing. Within, the hall was cool and dark with long -afternoon shadows; the din of the western quarter drifted hither only -faintly, so his mind went back with a vaguely homesick feeling to the -peaceful, humdrum days at Everscombe a year ago. It seemed like a bit of -the old life to go to the door of the east parlor and knock and hear his -grandfather’s voice bidding him enter. - -But once inside, Hugh knew a year had passed since last he faced Master -Oldesworth there. Not only did a glance at his own buff coat and high -boots, his sword and bandaged arm recall the change, but he could see -his grandfather bent a little in his chair, and his head looked whiter -even than it had looked two days before. The old man was sitting by the -window, but at Hugh’s step he turned toward him with a cold, angry face -that made the boy hesitate at first; then taking courage he repeated his -father’s message respectfully. Master Oldesworth’s face relaxed a little -at the word of Captain Oldesworth, and at that Hugh ventured to add in -his own behalf: “And, aside from my father’s message, sir, I wished to -come hither and thank you that you used me so kindly the other day.” - -“I would use you still better if your stiff-necked childishness did not -prevent,” the old man answered sternly. “So you will yet refuse what I -would offer and follow this man because he is your father?” - -“Nay, ’tis not for that now, sir,” Hugh replied happily, “’tis because -he saved my life yesterday, and he has made me his officer. ’Tis because -I know him to be a valiant and a kindly gentleman, though his temper is -hot. And I must go, too, because my friends all fight for the same cause -as he.” - -“So you will play your mother’s part over again,” Master Oldesworth said -sharply, and gazed out at the window so long that Hugh made a motion to -go, when the old man rose and bade him come to him. “You are set to go -your own way, and ’tis a foolish way,” he began, putting his hand on the -boy’s shoulder. “’Twas her way, too. Yet spite of all I loved her best -of all my daughters or yet of my sons. Well, well, Hugh, I would not say -it the first time you went, but now if God can look on a man who fights -in so unjust a cause I pray He may keep you uncorrupted and turn your -heart aright while there is time. Now go your way.” - -He turned to the window, and Hugh murmured that he thanked him from his -heart and would strive never to shame him by his conduct. - -Then he passed out into the hall again, and, with his mind on what had -just been said, was stepping slowly to the door, when from the stairway -he heard his name called. Before he faced about he knew it was his -sharp-tongued Aunt Delia, but the sensitive boyish dread of her was all -gone now. He turned back briskly to learn her bidding, and as he turned -he perceived Lois Campion standing by her at the foot of the stairs. -“’Tis well you have come back, Hugh Gwyeth,” Mistress Oldesworth began -in a cutting voice that might have made Hugh wince, only he told himself -that she was Peregrine’s mother, and Peregrine was a coward and a -runaway; she had need of words to vent her bitter sorrow. “There is one -here maybe has claim on you, if you still hold in remembrance this -gentlewoman,” she went on, leading Lois forward. “She has remembered you -so well that she has forgotten her duty to her kindred and to—” - -“Let me go, aunt!” Lois cried in a smothered tone. She had brushed by -Hugh and run out at the open door before he fully comprehended, and -without a glance at Mistress Oldesworth he ran after. - -Out under the elms of the east terrace he overtook Lois, and catching -her hand made her stay. “What is it? What does it mean?” he urged. - -“Nothing,” she answered, with her head erect and her cheeks blazing. -“Only, I can never go under that woman’s roof again. Some things even a -poor weak-spirited creature like a girl will not endure.” - -“But if you cannot stay at Everscombe,” Hugh repeated blankly, but next -moment he was half laughing. “Faith, Lois, the time has come now; you -shall run away with me. Come, we’ll be off at once.” - -The most of the troop had already ridden for Kingsford, Hugh perceived, -as they came to the front of the house, but by the west door Dick and -Frank, with Saxon and a trooper or two, still stayed for him. Hugh led -Lois up to his two friends, a bit slowly, for the girl’s steps faltered -shyly. “Dick,” he began, “this is Mistress Campion of whom I have told -you. They have cast her out from Everscombe because she set me free from -them yesterday, so ’tis in my mind to take her unto Tamworth.” - -Dick’s expressive eyebrows went up, but before Hugh had time for -resentment, or even comprehension, he had swung round on the trooper who -waited at Black Boy’s head: “Off to the stable with you and fetch a -pillion. Frank, use your impudence well and bring out a cloak for -Mistress Campion from the house. ’Tis well thought on, Hugh, for surely -all the regiment is indebted to the gentlewoman who aided you to bear -that message. Say, by Mistress Campion’s leave, we convey her to my -cousin, Mistress Cresswell, in Worcestershire?” - -“Did I not tell you, Lois, that Dick was the best good fellow ever -lived?” Hugh broke out. - -“Pshaw!” said Strangwayes. “Get to your saddle, you one-armed warrior. -You’ll have all you can do to manage Bayard, so I shall entreat Mistress -Campion to ride behind me.” - -In such order they went from Everscombe in the late afternoon, and, -urging the horses a trifle, for Captain Turner and Captain Gwyeth had -long since ridden forth, came into Kingsford as the sun was setting. -Already the troops were falling into marching order in the road, and -Strangwayes, only pausing to bid Hugh look that he did not go to sleep -and pitch over his saddle-bow ere he reached Tamworth, trotted ahead to -take his place in the rear of Turners men. At a word from him Frank -followed at his side, but Lois, seated behind Dick, kept her face turned -back to Hugh. - -He watched till they passed in the rear of the troop down to the bridge -of the Arrow, then drew Bayard back to the little band that represented -Gwyeth’s men; the troopers were all in the saddle; behind them Leveson’s -squads were getting to horse, and the graveyard was deserted. The slope -of the hill and the church were red in the sunset but very peaceful now; -Hugh looked to the church tower and saw no flag was flying. Then he -heard a voice at his elbow: “The colors, sir.” - -He looked down at Ridydale, stiff and soldierly, who saluted and passed -him up the red and gold cornet of the troop. - -“Can you manage the flag, Hugh?” spoke Captain Gwyeth, getting leisurely -to horse beside him. “Leave it to the corporal if your arm—” - -“Sure, sir, I can manage it very well indeed,” Hugh broke in, much -alarmed; he braced the staff against his stirrup and, resting it in the -crook of his elbow, gathered the reins into his sound hand. - -“Nay, none shall take it from you, Cornet Gwyeth,” the captain laughed, -and turned to the trumpeter to sound the order to march forward. - -They rode slowly down the slope to the bridge. The water splashed -beneath the archway, and the horses’ hoofs sounded hollow on the road; -Hugh listened happily, while his thoughts sped back to the last time he -had crossed the bridge, a friendless little runaway. On the thought he -turned in his saddle and gazed back at the church that now showed black -against the sunset sky. Did the mother who lay buried there, he -wondered, know that at last he had found Alan Gwyeth? He faced slowly to -the front again, and as he faced he met the captain’s eyes; there were -no words between them, but each guessed something of the other’s -thoughts. Hugh tightened his hold on Bayard’s bridle and drew close, so -he rode knee to knee with his father. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - “ANOTHER BEWITCHING ROMANCE” - —_The Times_, New York - - -------------- - - THE PRIDE OF JENNICO - - BEING A MEMOIR OF CAPTAIN BASIL JENNICO - - BY - - AGNES and EGERTON CASTLE - - 16mo. Cloth. $1.50 - - -------------- - -“Picturesque in literary style, rich in local color, rising at times -almost to tragic intentness, and bristling throughout with dramatic -interest.”—_The Record_, Philadelphia. - -"There is a wealth of historic detail which lends an interest to the -story apart from the romantic love affair between Captain Jennico and -the Princess Marie Ottilie of Lausitz. The hero’s great-uncle had been -one of those lucky English adventurers whose Catholic religion and -Jacobite leanings had debarred him from promotion at home, and who had -found advancement in the service of Austria, and wealth with the hand of -a Bohemian heiress. Such chances were not uncommon with ‘Soldiers of -Fortune’ in the times of Queen Anne and the early Georges. At his -uncle’s death, Captain Basil Jennico became the possessor of many -millions (reckoned by the florins of that land), besides the great -property of Tollendahl—fertile plains as well as wild forests, and of -the isolated frowning castle of Tollendahl with its fathom-thick walls, -its odd pictures of half-savage dead and gone Woschutzkis, its antique -clumsy furniture, tapestries, trophies of chase and war. He became -master, moreover, of endless tribes of dependents, heiducks and -foresters; females of all ages whose bare feet in summer pattered oddly -on the floors like the tread of animals, whose high boots in winter -clattered perpetually on the stone flags of stairs and corridors; serf -peasants, factors, overseers, the strangest mixture of races that can be -imagined; Slovacks, Bohemians, Poles, to labor on the glebe; Saxons or -Austrians to rule over them and cipher out rosters and returns; Magyars -who condescended to manage his horse-flesh and watch over his safety if -nothing else; the travelling bands of gypsies, ever changing, but never -failing with the dance, the song and the music, which was as -indispensable as salt to the life of that motley population. - -“The story is largely historical, both German and English elements -entering into it. The scene changes from the old castle of Tollendahl to -an English country house and London club, always maintaining its old -world flavor.” - -“The tale is gracefully told, and owing partly to this fact and to the -novelty of the setting given to Basil Jennico’s amazing experience, it -gains for itself a place apart.... It is an artistic production and it -is original.”—_The York Tribune._ - -“One of the newest and best novels of the decade.”—_The Budget_ -(Boston). - -“No such piece of inimitable comedy, in a literary way, has appeared for -years.”—_The Inter-Ocean_ (Chicago). - - -------------- - - THE MACMILLAN COMPANY - 66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK - Chicago Boston San Francisco - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - CROWNED BY THE LONDON ACADEMY - as one of the three most important books published during the year 1898 - - -------------- - - - THE FOREST LOVERS - - By MAURICE HEWLETT - - _Author of “Earth Works out of Tuscany,” “Pan and the Young - Shepherd,” etc._ - - Cloth. 12mo. $1.50 - - -------------- - - JAMES LANE ALLEN says: - -“This work, for any one of several solid reasons, must be regarded as of -very unusual interest. In the matter of style alone, it is an -achievement, an extraordinary achievement ...; in the matter of -interpreting nature there are passages in this book that I have never -seen surpassed in prose fiction.” - - HAMILTON W. MABIE says: - -“The plot is boldly conceived and strongly sustained; the characters are -vigorously drawn and are thrown into striking contrast.... It leads the -reader far from the dusty highway; it is touched with the penetrating -power of the imagination; it has human interest and idyllic -loveliness.”—_Book Reviews._ - - The New York Tribune says: - -“A series of adventures as original as they are romantic.... ‘The Forest -Lovers’ is a piece of ancient arras; a thing mysteriously beautiful, a -book that is real and at the same time radiant with poetry and art. ‘The -Forest Lovers’ will be read with admiration and preserved with something -more than respect.” - - The Outlook calls it: - -“A story compounded of many kinds of beauty. It has, to begin with, -enchanting beauty of background; or rather, it moves through a beautiful -world, the play of whose light upon it is subtle, beguiling, and -magical.” - - -------------- - - THE MACMILLAN COMPANY - 66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - Transcriber’s Note - -Only one typographical error was detected in this volume. 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