Herbert woke after a troubled night’s rest, disturbed by the occasional irruption of comrades brought in by the piquet and patrols, in various stages of intoxication, and the visits of the sergeant of the guard. The bare boards had been his bed, and he ached in every limb. It was with a sense of relief almost, although he dreaded the ordeal before him, that he washed and cleaned himself up preparatory to taking his place in the ranks with the rest of ‘the prisoners.’ With them, under escort of the guard, he was presently marched to the orderly-room, and then, after waiting half-an-hour for his turn, he was marched into the presence of his commanding officer, to answer for his alleged crime. He and Jubbock appeared together before their judge, Colonel Prioleau. The sergeant, who was the only witness, gave his evidence fairly, although not without a bias against Herbert, but the Colonel withheld judgment till he heard the defence. ‘What have you got to say?’ he asked of both abruptly. ‘Please, your honour,’ began Jubbock, ‘we wasn’t fighting at all; we was only wrastling. This young chap says, says he, he knew a thing or two about the Cumberland cropper, and I, says I, know’d more about the Hampshire hug; and with that we had a set-to, and the sergeant found us at it.’ The old soldier’s tendency to misstatement--to call it by no stronger name--was very repugnant to honest Herbert. ‘I beg your pardon, sir,’ he put in, ‘he is not telling you the truth. We _were_ fighting. He struck me, and I knocked him down.’ Colonel looked up a little curiously. Herbert’s accent and his language were both more accurate than one is accustomed to find in a private soldier. ‘You did, did you? And would you do it again?’ ‘I would, sir, if he provoked me; I’m not afraid of him,’ cried Herbert, hotly. ‘He’d better try,’ Jubbock said, growing also warm, notwithstanding the awe inspired by the great man in whose presence he stood. ‘It’s quite evident you can’t agree. There’s bad blood between you still. Well, you know the old rule--no, Captain Greathed, I won’t hear a word--young soldiers must find their level, and hold their own. Besides, there is the old regimental custom. You must fight it out. Send them down to the main ditch, as usual, and let the orderly sergeant go with them to see fair play. It’s no use talking to me, Captain Greathed; I shall stick to the old rule of the Duke’s Own so long as I am commanding the corps.’ Captain Greathed thought it wisest to let matters take their course. Any further interference to protect Herbert might have looked like favouritism, and have done the young fellow more harm than good. He may have thought, too, that Herbert could give a good account of his antagonist. The mill was conducted according to custom, in semi-official fashion. The orderly sergeant, as before said, and two bottle-holders--Hanlon was Herbert’s--were the only spectators.