Sir Jasper had not got to saddle yet. He stood at the door, with his wife and Maurice, greeting all new-comers, and hoping constantly that there were laggards to come in. He reached up a hand to grasp the Squire’s. “The muster’s small, old friend,” he said. “Well, what else?” growled Roger. “We know our Lancashire--oh, by the Heart, we know it through and through.” He glanced round the courtyard, with the free, wind-trained eye that saw each face, each detail. “There’s few like to make a hard bed for themselves, Jasper. Best leave our feather-bed folk at home.” Sir Jasper, with a twinge of pain to which long use had accustomed him, thought of Rupert, his heir. He glanced aside from the trouble, and for the first time saw that Nance was close behind her father. “Does Nance go with us?” he asked, with a quick smile. “She can ride as well as the best of us--we know as much, but women are not soldiers these days, Roger.” Squire Demaine looked round for a face he did not find. “No, she stays here at Windyhough. Where’s Rupert? I always trusted that quiet lad.” “He’s gone up to the moors, sir, I think,” said Maurice, with some impulse to defend the absent brother. “He was full of nightmares just before dawn--talking of the Prince, who needed him--and he was gone when I got up at daybreak.” “Well, he’ll return,” snapped the Squire; “and, though I say it, he’ll find a bonnie nestling here at Windyhough. Nance, tell the lad that I trust him. And now, Jasper, we’ll be late for the meet on the Langton Road, unless we bestir ourselves.” Sir Jasper, under all his unswerving zeal, grew weak with a fine human tenderness. He turned, caught his wife’s glance, wondered in some odd, dizzy way why he had chosen to tear his heart out by the roots. And Rupert was not here; he had longed to say good-bye to him, and he was hiding somewhere, full of shame that was too heavy for his years--oh, yes, he knew the lad! He passed a hand across his eyes, stooped for a moment and whispered some farewell message to his wife, then set his foot into the stirrup that Giles was holding for him. His face cleared. He had chosen the way of action--and the road lay straight ahead. “We’re ready, gentlemen, I take it?” he said. “Good! The Prince might chance to be a little earlier at the meet. We’d best be starting.” Nance had slipped from the saddle, and stood, with the bridle in her hand, watching the riders get into some semblance of a well-drilled company of horse. At another time her quick eye would have seen the humour of it. Small farmers--and their hinds, on plough-horses--were jostling thoroughbreds. Rough faces that she knew were self-conscious of a new dignity; rough lips were muttering broad, lively oaths as if still they were engaged in persuading their mounts to drive a straight furrow.