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.”