Hugh laughed happily, then drew the reins tauter in his hands, and strained his eyes into the dark ahead lest some pitfall open to swallow up the bay horse from under him. The road was so short, as he traversed it now, that he was sorry when the fires on Edgehill twinkled in the distance, and, picking their way cautiously, they came to the rendezvous of Turner’s troop. “I am keeping by the captain, do you see?” Strangwayes whispered Hugh as they dismounted. “He has lost his lieutenant, and Sir William has promised to set me in the first vacancy.” Of the rest of the night Hugh only remembered that his knees were very warm with the fire by which he sat, and his back was cold in spite of his cloak. The flames crackled bravely, and Strangwayes talked nonsense, to which Captain Turner listened in deep and sober approbation. But Hugh, crowded close up to Strangwayes, said nothing, just gazed at the fire and closed his eyes once in a while, till at last he went ignominiously asleep with his head on his friend’s shoulder. Waking with neck stiff and arm cramped, he found to his delight the east all pale in the dawn, so, slipping the bridle of the bay horse over his arm, he went strolling across the encampment till he could find out Frank and show him his new mount. But Frank, now confident in the possession of The Jade, discovered many flaws in the bay, which he set forth in horseman-like phrases till Hugh went sauntering back again to Strangwayes. At Turner’s fire he found a newcomer, a brown-haired young officer, who had once taken him for a horse-boy, whom Strangwayes now made known to him under the name of George Allestree, guidon in Captain Butler’s dragoons, and serving as a volunteer at Edgehill. Discreetly ignoring their former meeting, Allestree was effusively grateful to Hugh for the use of the bay, which Strangwayes had lent him to ride thither, and altogether proved so pleasant spoken a fellow that Hugh ended by putting out of mind the memory of his previous conduct. With Allestree and Strangwayes Hugh passed the long day, now talking a bit by the ashes of last night’s fire, then rising to stretch his legs and look to his horse, then back to the fire again, where he ate such rations as were dealt to him and felt rather hungry afterward. It was a day of uncertainty and idleness beneath which lay a tense expectancy; any moment a blow might be struck for the king, yet the moments passed and nothing was done. About noon Turner stalked off to confer with Sir William, but he came back whistling and non-committal; indeed, there was nothing but the old story to tell: his Majesty’s army rested on Edgehill and my Lord Essex’s army was drawn up in the plain below, and each looked at the other, but neither moved to strike.