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.