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.”