“By the Lord, this beast will not serve your turn!” Hugh cried hotly, and, catching hold on Bayard’s bridle, flung himself before the horse in time to confront the stranger. “This is no post-horse, sir, but mine own.” The other turned sharp away with a shrug of the shoulders; they were broad shoulders, Hugh noted, and the rough gray coat fitted them ill. “Put saddle to another horse at once,” the man bade. “There is no other at hand, your Honor,” the host apologized, as he ventured out into the court. “All are at the smith’s. Belike in a half-hour, your Worship—” “Enough,” the other interrupted him, and strode back to Hugh. “What will you sell this beast for?” he asked curtly. “Not again for all the gold in England,” Hugh replied, tightening his grasp on the bridle. “My faith, sir, I’ve no intent to knock you down and steal the horse,” the other answered, with a short laugh. His cool tone allayed the heat of Hugh’s anger sufficiently for him to note the man more closely now, and he perceived he was not above three or four and twenty, of a tall strong build, with sharp eyes. Hugh caught his breath and stared frankly, while his mind jumped back to his first day at Oxford, when he and Allestree, standing upon the steps, had watched the king and his retinue ride by. The stranger had turned his back upon him now, and drawn over to the centre of the court, but his voice was loud, and Hugh could hear him bidding the hostler run out and procure him a farm-horse or aught that went upon four legs. With a sudden desperate impulse Hugh thrust forward and spoke boldly, “If it like you, sir, you may have my horse now.” “Your price?” “No price. I’ll lend him unto you.” “You’ve changed your tune quickly, sir,” said the man, coming back to Bayard’s side. “I’m thinking ’tis likely your business is of more weight than mine, your Highness,” Hugh answered, in a tone that sank to a whisper. “So you know me?” asked the stranger, with his foot already in the stirrup. “I can guess, sir.” “Spare guessing, then, for taxing the brain,” retorted the other, as he settled himself in the saddle. “Give me your name, though, sir; I’ll not forget your service.” Hugh hesitated an instant, then replied, “Hugh Gwyeth.” “I’ve heard that name. Perhaps you’re kinsman to him that killed Bellasis’ son?” “I—I am the man that killed him, sir.” “You? The deuce you are!” the stranger broke out; and, to Hugh’s amazement, he did not look horrified, but more as if he were inclined to laugh. “Come seek me to-morrow morning at my quarters,” he said abruptly, then, gathering up the reins, went out of the inn yard at a gallop. Hugh stood gazing blankly after him, and could not decide whether to be elated or dismayed, for he knew the stranger was Prince Rupert, and he was to have audience with him next morning. Carry his cause to the king, the widow had counselled him, Hugh reflected, and he tried to smile at the remembrance, though his heart was sober and anxious.