JOHN TALBOT. Bourke is dead, sir, and Tregarris, and Langdale, and--and James Talbot, my brother. DRISCOLL. And we've had no water, sir, these many hours. HUGH TALBOT. So! You're wounded, Phelimy. DRISCOLL. 'Tis not worth heeding, sir. HUGH TALBOT. Kit! Kit! (_At the voice_ NEWCOMBE _pulls himself together._) A light here! Dick, you've your pouch under your hand? FENTON. 'Tis here, sir. (_Offers his tobacco pouch._) HUGH TALBOT (_filling his pipe_). Leave the window, Myles! They've promised us a half hour's truce--and Cromwell's a man of his word. NEWCOMBE (_bringing a lighted candle_). He'll let us pass free now, sir, will he not? HUGH TALBOT (_lighting his pipe at the candle_). You're not afraid, Kit? NEWCOMBE. I? Faith, no, sir. No! Not now! HUGH TALBOT. Sit ye down, Phelimy, lad! You look dead on your feet. Give me to see that arm! (_As_ HUGH TALBOT _starts toward_ DRISCOLL, _his eye falls on the open keg of powder. He draws back hastily, covering his lighted pipe._) Jack Talbot! Who taught ye to leave your powder uncovered, where lighted match was laid? BUTLER. My blame, sir. (_Covers the keg._) JOHN TALBOT. We opened the keg, and then-- FENTON. Truth, we did not cover it again, being somewhat pressed for time. (_The five laugh, half hysterically._) HUGH TALBOT (_sitting by fire_). And you never thought, maybe, that in that keg there was powder enough to blow the bridge of Cashala to hell? JOHN TALBOT. It seemed a matter of small moment, sir. HUGH TALBOT. Small moment! Powder enough, put case ye set it there, at the stairhead--d'ye follow me?--powder enough to make an end of Cashala Bridge for all time--aye, and of all within the Gatehouse. You never thought on that, eh? JOHN TALBOT. We had so much to think on, sir. HUGH TALBOT. I did suspect as much. So I came hither to recall the powder to your minds. DRISCOLL. We thought--(BUTLER _motions him to be silent._) We thought maybe you would not be coming at all, sir. Maybe you would be dead. HUGH TALBOT. Well? What an if I had been dead? You had your orders. You did not dream of giving up the Bridge of Cashala--eh, Myles Butler? BUTLER (_after a moment_). No, sir. HUGH TALBOT. Nor you, Dick Fenton? FENTON. Sir, I--No! HUGH TALBOT (_smoking throughout_). Good lads! The wise heads were saying I was a stark fool to set you here at Cashala. But I said: I can be trusting the young riders that are learning their lessons in war from me. I'll be safe putting my honor into their hands. And I was right, wasn't I, Phelimy Driscoll? DRISCOLL. Give us the chance, sir, and we'll be holding Cashala, even against the devil himself! FENTON. Aye, well said! HUGH TALBOT. Sure,'tis a passing good substitute for the devil sits yonder in Cromwell's tent. NEWCOMBE (_with a shudder_). Cromwell!