Just there the host interrupted him; what was his pleasure now? Surely he would not attempt to make his journey with the lame horse? “No, let him rest,” Hugh ordered; “I’ll venture him in the morning. For now give me a chamber; I’ll lie here this night.” He was early astir next day, for, though the way to Oxford was short, he was not sure of his mount, and, in any case, he was burning with desire to present himself before the Prince and know the worst that was destined for him. The white horse still went lame with a strained fore-leg, but, sparing him as much as he could, Hugh contrived about eleven of the clock to pace slowly into the city. Before he entered the suburbs he had flung on his cloak, in spite of the heat, and pulled his hat low on his forehead; but still he was nervously alert to avoid the fixed gaze of those he met, and he dreaded any delay in the street. By dint of such precautions, perhaps, he came at last unchallenged to Christ Church, where he remembered Prince Rupert had his quarters. The groom who took his bridle eyed him sharply, and, once across the quadrangle and within the broad hall, a trig gentleman usher looked askance at his worn boots and shabby buff coat. Hugh had too much upon his mind, however, to trouble for his poor attire. He sat uneasily in the great chair to which he had been motioned, and studied the sunlight that fell from a long window high up toward the roof of the hall, till the usher came at last to bid him follow. Hugh trudged obediently up a great flight of stairs that creaked alarmingly, and, as he went, wondered why there was an emptiness where his heart ought to be, and his throat felt all choked up. A great door was swung open, he remembered; then he was within a long sunshiny chamber, with heavy table and big dark chairs, the usher had gone, and he was left face to face with his Highness, the Prince, and another youngish gentleman, who sat at opposite sides of the table with a jumble of papers betwixt them. “You keep your time well, Master Gwyeth,” spoke the Prince, and put by a paper like a map he had been studying. “Your Highness bade me,” Hugh stammered. “So ’twas you killed Bellasis’ son,” the other repeated, still amusedly. “Lay down that order, Grandison. I want you to have a look at this desperate duellist.” “That boy, your Highness?” drawled the man at the table. The blood came hot into Hugh’s cheeks. “I pray your Highness, hang me, if you will, but do not mock me,” he blurted out. “Who speaks of hanging you here, lad?” Prince Rupert answered, in so kindly a fashion that Hugh gazed at him in surprise. “Nay, had I my way, I’d give a captaincy to every man who has the goodness to take off one of these cursed civilians who are always holding our hands. You are of the army, sir?” “I hope to be, your Highness. I am only a volunteer now.”