At first, as he came from the bright sunlight, the shadows within the church blinded him, but he could hear the sorry groaning of injured men, and presently made out that the wounded were laid in the transept before him. It was an ugly, pitiful sight, and knowing his helplessness to aid he passed on quickly into the choir, where he had caught sight of Ridydale. Once more the corporal was seated with his carabine on the altar stairs, but he now had on his grimmest look, for down in Hugh’s old place lay Captain Oldesworth. They must have looked to his hurts somewhat, for the blood had been washed from his face, and his coat was flung open as if his side had been bandaged; he lay quiet now, with his eyes closed and his lips white, but Hugh, remembering how mercilessly the man had dealt by him, told himself he did not pity him. Without heeding the captain he stepped over to Ridydale and asked him where Lieutenant von Holzberg might be found. “He has just passed down into the nave, Master Hugh,” said Ridydale relaxing his grimness a trifle. “Crave your pardon, sir, I should have called you Cornet Gwyeth now.” “Perhaps not yet,” Hugh answered discreetly; “Sir William Pleydall will have a word to say in the matter.” “Humph!” Ridydale retorted conclusively. “Hasn’t Colonel Gwyeth said you were his cornet? What more would you have?” Hugh laughed, and was turning away, when he perceived that Captain Oldesworth had opened his eyes and was watching him; he halted short and waited, for he would not be the first to speak. “So it’s your day now,” Oldesworth began, in an even tone that might be construed a dozen ways. “Fortune of war, sir,” Hugh answered coldly. “You got in, after all,” the captain pursued, with something like a groan. “That comes of letting a civilian meddle with military matters. If you had remained in my hands—” There he broke off. “I crave your forgiveness, sir,” he finished, with a bitterness that angered Hugh, yet moved him to something faintly like compassion, “I had forgot; a prisoner should be circumspect in speech.” It was on Hugh’s tongue to retort that Cavalier gentlemen were not wont to mishandle their prisoners, but he thought on Dennis Butler, and that speech was silenced. He merely said: “My father will not abuse you, sir,” and had half a mind to pass on, when Oldesworth struggled up on his elbow. “Tell me one thing, Hugh,” he broke out as if against his will, “has Peregrine been taken?” “No, sir, not here at Kingsford.” Oldesworth sank down again with his head on his arm. “He ran away, then,” he said in a constrained voice. “He should have come in with the other squadron. We need not have been so cut to pieces had the whole troop been there. Lieutenant Ingram came in with me; he was killed at the breach. And Peregrine ran away.” He paused a moment, then spoke half to himself, “If I come free again I’ll strip him out of his commission for this.”