“I taught you no lies, at any rate,” said Sir Jasper gruffly. “Let’s go indoors and set your face to rights.” “But, father, I shall ride with you?” “No, no,” said the other, with brusque tenderness. “You are not--not strong enough--you are untrained to stand the hardships of a campaign.” Rupert’s face grew white and set, as he understood the full meaning of that word “untrained.” In the peaceful days it had been well enough for him to stand apart, possessed by the belief that he was weaker than his fellows; it was a matter of his own suffering only; but now every loyal man in Lancashire was needed by the Prince. His father’s hesitancy, the wish to save him pain, were very clear to him. He had thought, in some haphazard, dreamy way, that zeal and complete readiness to die, if need be, for the Cause, were enough to make a soldier of him. But now he realised that untrained men would be a hindrance to the march, that he would be thwarting, not aiding, the whole enterprise. “There, you take it hardly, lad!” said Sir Jasper, ill at ease. “Your place is here. You’ll be needed to guard Windyhough and the women while we’re away.” “You mean it in kindness, sir, but--the fight will sweep south, you tell me.” “It may sweep any way, once the country is astir. You may find yourself fighting against long odds, Rupert, before you’ve had time to miss us. Come, it is each to his own work these days.” In the hall, as they went in, Lady Royd was making much of Maurice, obviously against his will. His hurts must be seen to--how had he come by them?--he was looking grey and ill--Maurice was ashamed of the twenty foolish questions she put to him. “Mother, I’m a grown man by now,” he was saying as Sir Jasper entered. “The nursery days are over.” “Yes,” put in his elder brother, with a quick, heedless laugh, “the nursery days are over, mother.” She turned to him, surprised by his tone and new air of command. And on his face, too, she saw the marks of his stubborn fight with Maurice; and something stirred in her--some instinct foreign to her easy, pampered life--some touch of pride that her elder-born could fight like other men. “So it was you who fought with Maurice? Miracles do not come singly, so they say.” From sheer habit she could not keep back the gibe. “We shall have the skies raining heroes soon if the heir of Windyhough----” “Be quiet, wife!” broke in Sir Jasper hotly. “Your sons--God help me that I have to say it!--your sons will be ashamed of you in years to come.”