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When I went into the hall, my uncle and Sir Jarvis sat in their chairs by the hearth, the great screen protecting them from the draught, and the fire piled up with logs, and glowing so bright that you had fancied it was a winter’s night rather than an August evening. On the table between them stood a second flask of Sir Nicholas’s Tokay, and I observed that in his excitement my good uncle had filled his own glass and sipped largely from it, which was a bad thing for his gout, and to be paid for afterwards. Sir Jarvis Cutler was smoking tobacco from a pipe—a newfangled habit which I knew my uncle could not abide, but which he evidently forgave in a guest so much after his own heart.

“Sit thee down, Dick,” says Sir Nicholas. “Od’s body, I wondered what had got thee. These boys, Sir Jarvis, will for ever be at their books—pour thyself out a glass of wine, Richard: ’tis vastly different stuff, I warrant me, to what you find in your common rooms at Oxford. Sir Jarvis, spare not—there is more where that came from—if it were not for the gout I would help you to crack more bottles than one. Nay, Dick, forget thy books and rhymes, man!—this is no time for a long face.”

“With due respect, neighbour,” says Sir Jarvis, “’tis a time that will bring long faces enow. But as for books, I agree—’tis rather a time for swords than words. Thou wilt have to lay aside the pen, lad,” he says, turning himself to me, “and take up the sword.”

“I trust not, sir,” says I. “I have no mind to see fighting ’twixt folk of one speech and blood.”

“Why,” says he, “that’s well said from one point o’ view, but neither here nor there at this present. For fighting there will be, aye, ’twixt father and son, and brother and cousin.”

“Say, rather,” chimes in Sir Nicholas, “’twixt loyal and disloyal, faithful and unfaithful. A plague on all rebels, say I!”

“I have been telling thy good uncle, Dick,” says Sir Jarvis, pressing fresh tobacco into the bowl of his pipe, “of what there is afoot in these parts amongst those of us that are true to the King’s Majesty. Now that his Highness hath necessities we must needs help him with ourselves and our substance. There’s been a meeting in York, Dick, amongst certain of us—but for his plaguey gout your good uncle had been there—and we came to a decision—no hangers back, Sir Nicholas—to do what we could, and that’s our best. Some have given a hundred pound, some three hundred, some five—’od’s body! why trouble about the amounts?—each gentleman has done what he could—it mounts up in some cases to as much as ten thousand pound. Then men are being enlisted, and are to be maintained at our charges—a costly business, Sir Nicholas, but one that must be endured. And now that His Majesty’s flag is raised in defiance of these traitors, we are forming a garrison for Pomfret Castle, and it shall go hard with us, but we’ll hold it against every rebel of them.”

“Tell the lad what names you have amongst you, Sir Jarvis,” says my uncle. “’Tis a fine list of worthy and gallant gentlemen, and any man should be proud to join their company.”

“Why, first,” says Sir Jarvis, “there’s Colonel Lowther, that will govern and command us, and with him Colonel Wheatley and Colonel Middleton. As for the gentlemen Volunteers, we have formed them into four divisions. Colonel Grey will lead the first, Sir Richard Hutton the second, Sir John Ramsden the third, and Sir George Wentworth the fourth. I myself am second in command to Sir John, and I warrant thee, Master Dick, we have some pretty fellows with us, as have all the other captains. Some hundred and thirty gallant gentlemen we are in all; but we can find room for more, and as thy worthy uncle is beyond fighting at this moment, why, we will make a place for thee, his representative.”

“Sir,” says I, “you’re very kind; but I have no mind for wars and battles. My occupations are of a peaceful nature; if I fight it must be with pens and parchment for weapons rather than pikes and swords.”

“’Slife, Dick!” exclaims my uncle, peevishly. “This is no time for peaceful acts, man.”

“’Twas but this morning you counselled me not to be led astray from my profession that is to be, sir,” says I; “and I’ve thought things over, and decided to follow your wise advice. If I am to be Lord Chancellor, ’tis time I gave more heed to my books.”

“Tut, tut!” says he, still more peevish, for his toe began to tweak him again. “Since morning, lad, a good many things have happened. We must needs deny ourselves for the king’s sake, and ’tis my wish that you should assist our neighbours in keeping Pomfret Castle for His Majesty. Say no more on’t: Sir Jarvis, fill your glass.”

“I doubt the prospect of war has little charm for thee, Master Dick,” says Sir Jarvis, eying me in a fashion I had no liking for.

“I am not a soldier,” says I, putting as much ill-humour into my voice as I could, for I was playing a part, and wished to do it well. “And I am not minded to engage in brawls——”

“Brawls!” he cries. “’Sdeath, lad, thou hadst best not use that word before one of His Majesty’s officers! Brawls, quotha! Why, boy——”

“Fie on thee, Dick!” says my uncle. “Fie! Brawls, indeed! Why, ’tis the most righteous of quarrels into which His Majesty hath entered. Say no more, Sir Jarvis; the lad hath been bred to papers and books, but he will fight well enough, I warrant you, when he is once shown the trick of the thing. I wish I had had thee trained in fence, Dick; but I never thought there would be occasion for thy use of it. Sir Jarvis, help yourself to the bottle. Nay, man, be not sparing—who knows what there may not be in store of hard work to-morrow? If it were not for this plaguey gout of mine, I would help you more freely; but, i’faith, friend, I am in sore pain, and will ask your leave to go to my bed. Dick, play the host to Sir Jarvis, boy. Spare not the Tokay, Sir Jarvis—Gregory will serve you.”

Now, when Gregory and Barbara between them had helped my uncle to his own chamber, Sir Jarvis and I sat before the fire, not over lively companions. He smoked his tobacco, and from time to time refilled his glass, and now and then he cast sidelong glances at me, who watched him out of my eye-corners.

“Thou art not too fond of the king, then, Master Dick?” says he at last, glancing at me.

“Sir,” says I; “I know no reason why I should discuss His Majesty with you or any man.”

“Aye,” says he; “I have heard that answer before, and know what it means, lad. Faith, you may deceive the old knight upstairs, but not the one that sits with you down below. I have heard there is disaffection amongst some of you young Oxford sparks—aye, I heard it a six-month since.”

“’Tis a matter of complete indifference to me, sir,” I says, as cool as I could.

“’Od’s body, lad!” he exclaims with a sudden fervour. “Thou art prettily unconcerned about these things, but if I met an enemy to the king I would run him through as soon as look at him!”

“Would you, sir?” says I.

“Aye, would I!” says he. “Were he my brother, aye, or father, I would, Master Dick.”

I laid hands on the flask and poured myself out a glassful.

“Here’s your health, sir,” I says, bowing to him.

“I never thought to find thee disaffected,” says he, taking no heed of my compliment.

“Have you done so, sir?” I asks him.

He favoured me with a hard look.

“Faith!” he says, half muttering to himself, “I don’t find much enthusiasm in you.”

“You forget, sir,” I answers, “that I am to be a lawyer. ’Tis not my trade to show my feelings, but rather to conceal them.”

“Be damned to your feelings!” he raps out. “’Slife, man, there are half the lads in England shouting for one side or t’other to-night, instead o’ sitting as you do with a face as long as those parchments you pour over.”

“I am quite agreeable, sir,” says I. “Let them shout—I suppose I have a right to preserve my voice for the courts of law.”

“Oh, preserve it!” he answers.

“Will you take some more wine, sir?” I says very polite, and pushing the flask towards him.

He stared at me from under his bushy eyebrows and laid his pipe on the table.

“No!” he says. He rose and stretched himself on the hearth, his big body seeming to eclipse the leaping flames. “I’ll to bed,” he says. “Good-night—and more spunk to you. Master Richard,” and he strode across the hall to the door.

I jumped up at that.

“By God!” says I, a sudden passion raging within me. “If occasion should ever serve, Sir Jarvis, you shall see what spunk I have!”

With his hand on the door he turned and looked long at me, as I leaned forward over the table staring straight into his eyes.

“Aha!” says he at last. “I see how it is—egad, Dick, I thought it strange if I could not draw thee! Well—well—as I said before, ’twill be house against house, and brother against brother, aye, and son against father. Good-night to thee, Dick.” He swung through the door and left it open. I heard his heavy tread on the kitchen flags, and then the clank of his sword’s heel as it caught each stair. I stood there in the same attitude until all was still again. The fire crackled behind me. I suddenly bethought me of the letter which Matthew Richardson had sent me, and ran out to the kitchen hearth, half afraid that some scrap of it might have escaped the flames. The fire had smouldered away; it was all dead ashes; and before it sat Jasper, his hands folded across his stomach, fast asleep.