Which was all most damnable hypocrisy, seeing that I was as much filled with desire for war as he himself, and as ardently wishful that my cause might triumph as he was that his might succeed. But ’twas pardonable, I think, for I did it to avoid giving the old man more pain than was necessary. If I had told him in so many words that I was leaving him to join the Parliamentarian army it had killed him, of a surety; to leave him under the impression that I was returning to my studies would only disappoint and grieve him. He stared at me across the table, and I saw the veins swell in his forehead. “’Od’s life!” he says. “I believe thou art naught but a tame cock after all. Do I understand thee, nephew, to refuse service to His Majesty, and to prefer thy stinking parchments and musty folios to the sword and pistol?” “Infinitely, sir,” says I, lying harder than ever. He got up from the table, gave a deep sigh, and hobbled over to his chair. I ran forward to help him: he pushed me away testily. “Leave women’s work to women,” he says, giving me a spiteful look. “Lord! that thou hadst been a lass, and Alison French a man!” “I am not the less a man because I am a man of peace, sir,” I answers, more damnably hypocritical than ever. “Confound your cool manners!” says he, losing his temper. “’Od’s body, a pretty fellow you have turned out, setting yourself against the king’s interests! Now hark thee, nephew--either go to Sir Jarvis and take service under him as I desire, or else leave here at once and return to thy books and parchments: I’ll have no laggards dangling about my hall in time o’ war.” “Dear sir,” says I. “I was about to ask your permission to return to Oxford this day. ’Tis still far from term time, but there is a professor there with whom I am anxious to continue my reading.” “Aye,” he says, as if to himself. “Aye--oh, return at once! I could not abide to see thee playing with books when thou shouldst be practising fence.” “Then I have your leave, sir?” I asks him, abusing myself inwardly for my deceit, now as it was for his own sake. “Oh, take it, nephew,” he answers. “Take it, by all means.” He turned himself to the fire and tapped his stick impatiently on the hearth. “I am disappointed in thee, Dick,” he says, presently. “’Slife, what are all the young men coming to? Had it been Alison, now--what art loitering there for?” he screams. “Get thee ready, boy--get thee ready and go--go! We are going to have war and bloodshed--thou wilt faint if the scullery-wench gets her finger pricked!” So it came about that within the hour my horse stood saddled and bridled in the courtyard and I was ready to depart. I went in to say farewell to my uncle and found him cold and ceremonious. “I wish thee a safe journey, nephew,” says he. “When it will be possible to ask thee to visit me again is more than I can say, seeing that the times are so troublous. Hold--here is money in this purse--”