It was mid-morning when they drew rein before the much belauded alehouse, a low gray building, in a field somewhat apart from the surrounding cottages, with tall poplars in a row on either side that made it seem the more remote. The short-breathed host and his staid, gray-headed drawer had had acquaintance with Strangwayes as late as that winter, to judge by the warmth of their greeting. They had the horses to the stable at once, and the gentlemen to the big front chamber of the upper story, where a good fire was started, a cloth laid, and all made comfortable. “We’ll not dine till one o’clock,” Strangwayes ordered. “If you hear scuffling before then be not dismayed; we may try some sword practice. You understand, eh, Martin?” The sober drawer showed sparks of interest. “Be you to fight, Master Strangwayes?” he asked. “This gentleman is, this afternoon. Now keep a quiet tongue, Martin, as you always do.” He slipped a piece of money into the drawer’s hand, and the man departed slowly, with his gaze on Hugh. “Now make yourself at ease,” Strangwayes bade. “Or will you try a little rapier practice to limber your muscles?” Hugh was ready enough, so Strangwayes procured from the host a pair of blunted rapiers with which they fell to fencing. Hugh watched Dick’s sword-hand and did his best, but again and again the point slipped past his blade; there seemed no suppleness in his wrist nor spring in his body, and when he tried desperately to retort faster he laid himself open to his adversary. In the end, as he attempted a vigorous thrust in quarte, his foot slipped so he only saved himself by catching at the table. As he recovered himself he looked at Dick, and saw his face was of an appalling soberness. “You’ve a steady enough hand, Hugh,” he began hastily. “Only you must quicken your thrusts somewhat. No, don’t try any more; you’ll only spend yourself needlessly.” Hugh handed back his weapon, and made a great work of putting on his coat again. But presently it would out. “My father is considerable of a swordsman, is he not?” he began. “He has that reputation,” Strangwayes answered dryly. “Yet he did not contrive more than to wound Bellasis.” “I doubt if he put his whole skill into the business,” Strangwayes said quickly. “Come, Hugh, try a hand at primero with me,—unless you fear I worst you there.” He drew the cards from his pocket, and they sat down to the table by the fire. How many games they played Hugh did not heed; he dealt recklessly and talked and laughed his loudest; sometimes he won of Strangwayes, sometimes he lost, but it all mattered nothing. He was in the thick of a boisterous exposition of the merits of the hand he held, when some one knocked at the door. “Come!” Strangwayes cried eagerly, and sprang to his feet.