Manoah made no objection, for what was the pleasure of arguing if there was no one to take the opposite side? He had never been able to drag more than a reluctant “possibly” or “perchance” from Mr. Harford. And theology, as he had severely told him, knew nothing of such vague words, but was a matter of “yea, yea,” and “nay, nay.” However, he was somewhat mollified by Gabriel’s courteous thanks for his hospitality and great anxiety to give as little trouble as possible. And he never noticed the look of relief with which the patient heard Joscelyn Heyworth’s proposal to remain on night duty. It seemed to Gabriel a long time since he had had a comrade of his own age and standing to talk to, and that strong link of contemporary life, in itself did him good, while naturally he was drawn to one so frank and friendly as his rescuer. There was a strength, too, about Cornet Heyworth which appealed to him; young as he was he nevertheless had the look and bearing of a man who had suffered for his convictions. “How long have you been saddled with the saddler?” he asked, taking Manoah’s vacant chair. “For an hour by the clock,” said Gabriel, “and never wished more for the use of my legs, that I might flee from his long tongue.” Joscelyn laughed. “Oh! you are mending,” he said, cheerfully. “Last time I saw you, you were not wanting to run but to die.” “A man’s not responsible for what he says in extremity,” said Gabriel. “’Twas an award’s wish, and I’m ashamed of it now that I can think clearly.” “A wish to be fought and conquered,” said Joscelyn, musingly. “But one that comes to us all in moments of the greatest suffering.” Then, with a little hesitation, he told Gabriel that the war had robbed him also in cruel fashion, and in listening to what he was willing to tell of his story, the wounded man forgot his own troubles, and the two began a friendship that was to stand them in good stead. “I owe my life to you,” said Gabriel, gratefully. “To you, and strangely enough, to my Lord Falkland.” He told of the incident on the previous day and of his amazement that the Secretary of State should be there. “In truth,” said Joscelyn Heyworth, “I heard from no less a person than Colonel Hampden’s cousin, Cromwell, that my Lord Falkland had ridden about the field more as one that wished to spare life than to take it, and he had heard from others that the Secretary of State intervened several times when the Royalists would have slain the fugitives, and urged that they should have quarter on throwing down their arms. “But as Secretary he was not bound to fight at all,” said Gabriel.