Very early in the march they entered the hamlet of the “Golden Ram,” where Hugh, as he held it to be his duty, sought out Sir William and laid before him the story of Emry’s treachery. The baronet, after some moments of explosive swearing, sent men to apprehend the fellow, and bade Hugh go to guide them. But when they came to the inn they found that at their approach Constant-In-Business Emry had discreetly removed, and there was left only the red-cheeked maid with the black eyes, who joked and flirted with the troopers while she drew them ale. At first she did not recognize Hugh, and, when she did, seemed to take little interest in him; but, as the men tramped out, she ran after him, and catching his arm asked him in a whisper how the dark gentleman fared, and if he had been hurt in the scuffle. The news of Dick’s illness made her half sniffle, which touched Hugh so that, having no money to give her, he tried his friend’s tactics and kissed her. Whereat the wench, after a feint at boxing his ears, darted back to the door of the common room, where she paused, laughing shrilly. “Ride away, my lad,” she called after him. “It takes more than jack-boots and spurs to make a man.” Hugh went back to his horse in some mortification; it might be well enough for Dick Strangwayes to be on good terms with all women, but he had no will to meddle farther in such matters. Yet, scarcely a week later, he found himself seated at a table in a stuffy chamber, trying by the flicker of a guttering candle to blot out a letter to a girl. For the army was now among the Warwickshire fields, and the sight of home country brought back to Hugh’s thoughts Everscombe and the good friend he had left there. So, while Frank jeered from the bed about his sweetheart, and urged him to put out the candle and lie down, Hugh, sitting in his shirt-sleeves, painfully scrawled some ill-spelt lines to Lois Campion. Much had happened that would only make her miserable to know, so he spoke little of his father, only told her he was well and happy, and, as Colonel Gwyeth could offer him no place in his troop, was serving with Sir William Pleydall. He sent his duty to his grandfather, too, and his obedient faithful services to her. Just there Frank sat up in bed, and, throwing a boot at the candle, contrived to overturn the ink-bottle. Shutting his lips, Hugh mopped up the stuff, then, still without speaking, began to undress. “Now you’ve lost your temper, Master Roundhead,” Frank teased; but Hugh held his tongue till he had blown out the candle and stretched himself in the bed, then said only, “Good night.” He was almost asleep when Frank began shaking him. “Hugh, prithee, good Hugh,” he coaxed, “are you truly angry? Pray you, forgive me, Hugh.” “Don’t I always?” Hugh answered, half waked. “Go to sleep, Frank.”