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.