So they began next morning on as good terms as ever, and before night had barely avoided two of those quarrels which Frank made a daily incident to friendship. But by the following sunrise even Frank was too busied with other matters for such diversion. “The rumor’s abroad that we’re to bang old Essex soon,” he broke out, as he and Hugh rode a little before Sir William’s troop along the stony Warwickshire road. “We’ve been going to ever since we left Shrewsbury,” Hugh replied. “I hope—Perhaps if I did somewhat in battle some one would bestow a commission on me; I’d like not to tax your hospitality longer.” Then he repented of the last as an ungracious speech. But Frank, without heeding, ran on: “I hope I shall get a share in this work, and I will, if I lose my head for it. You’ll understand, Hugh, my father let me have no share in the fighting in Worcestershire; they left me at home when they went out to Powick Bridge. On my honor, Hugh, I wish sometimes one or two of my sisters had been boys. ’Tis a fine thing, no doubt, to be sole heir to a great property, but a man would like a little liberty now and again, not to be ever kept close and out of harm like a girl. Now I’ll lay you any amount of money my father will strive to keep me from this battle.” Hugh did not look properly sympathetic, so Frank added pettishly: “And he’ll rate you no higher than me, so if you are to have a hand in the fighting and get you a commission, you must look to yourself.” None the less Hugh cherished a suspicion that if a battle took place under his very nose he would be aware of it, and in that hope he went trustingly to sleep next night. Sir William’s troop was quartered about a small manor house, some three miles to the west of Edgcott, where the king lay. Hugh noted the place merely as one that gave comfortable harborage, for he and Frank were assigned a chamber to themselves, where they went promptly and wearily to bed. But barely asleep, as it seemed, a troublesome dream disturbed Hugh; he thought himself back in the Shrewsbury stables, where the horses had all turned restless and stamped unceasingly in their stalls. Then of a sudden he sat up in bed, broad awake, just in time to see the door kicked open, and Griffith, with his coat in one hand and a candle in the other, stumble in. “Up with you, youngsters!” he cried. “Essex is coming.” “Essex?” Frank whimpered sleepily. “We’ll kill him.” “Leave us the candle, Cornet Griffith,” Hugh cried, springing up and beginning to fling on his clothes. “How near are the enemy?” His teeth were chattering with the cold of the room and a nervous something that made his fingers shake. “The Lord knows!” Griffith replied, struggling into his coat. “The word to get under arms has but just come.” “Where is my other stocking?” Frank put in piteously from his side of the bed. “Hugh, have you seen it?” “Stockings!” the cornet ejaculated. “There’s a fellow would wait for lace cuffs ere he went to fight.”