The moments ran on, while the fire rose and sunk again, till Hugh judged the night more than half spent. Still none had fled in their direction; the men were restless at their useless stay, and Hugh himself had grown to hate this waiting, for it left him time to reflect, and to compare this raid with the daylight fighting he had had under Turner. For all the ugly sights of plunder to be seen he felt it a relief when the corporal gave the word to descend into the village, and gladly as the rest he trotted forward. Once in among the houses his comrades scattered to plunder, but Hugh, left alone, rode on down the street, which grew lighter with the flare of the burning houses. He had sight of household stuff that littered the roadway; in the lee of a wall he saw a man sitting with his hand pressed to his breast; and down toward the blaze, where was a great yelling and confusion, he made out against the glare the black shapes of men running to and fro. He saw, too, nearer at hand, a flapping sign-board before what seemed an inn, where a noisy crew had possession, and he halted a moment, while he wondered grimly if Butler were not there and if he should report to him. As he hesitated he heard some one shout from an upper window of the cottage on his right, and he let his eyes travel thither. The place looked dark and blank, but as he gazed the door was kicked open and a man came forth, holding by the arm a girl, who dragged back with all her slender strength. “What devil’s trade are you about?” Hugh called angrily. “Bring the wench hither.” The man hesitated, then unwillingly slouched nearer. As the firelight flared along the street Hugh saw it was his old enemy, the cross-eyed trooper; then his gaze dropped lower to the pallid face of the girl. At that Hugh sprang from his saddle with a cry, “Lois, Lois!” CHAPTER XVI ROUNDHEADS AND CAVALIERS He had thrust the trooper aside and drawn the girl close to him. “Sure, you do not fear me, Lois?” he urged, for she stood with her hands to her face and her body braced tensely against the pressure of his arm. “I’m Hugh Gwyeth. You’ve not forgot—” At that she uncovered her face and stared at him with so piteous a look of fright that Hugh hated himself and all who had had a share in that night’s work. “Be off with you.” He swung round upon the cross-eyed trooper with some of Allestree’s favorite oaths. “The gentlewoman is kin to me. Get you hence and be thankful I let you go with a whole skin.” Then he looked again to Lois, and, noting now that she had no outer covering upon her shoulders, unstrapped his cloak from the front of his saddle and wrapped it about her, drawing the folds up to hide her face somewhat. He felt her hands clutch tremulously at his wrist, and her voice broke into a choking sob: “O, Hugh! In sober truth, ’tis you? You will take care of me?”