a few got into a field, where they hid themselves in the tall corn, and the rest barricaded the inn door and manned the windows.  There they held out for some time, frequent pistol-shots being interchanged without much injury to either side.  At length, however, the marquis’s men had all but succeeded in forcing the door, when they were attacked in the rear by Richard with some thirty horse from the trenches, and the runaways of colonel Morgan’s men, who had met them and turned with them.  A smart combat ensued, lasting half an hour, in which the parliament men had the advantage.  Those who had lost their horses recovered them, and a royalist was taken prisoner.  From him Richard took his sword, and rode after the retreating cavaliers.

One of their number, a little in the rear, supposing Richard to be one of themselves, allowed him to get ahead of him, and, facing about, cut him off from his companions.  It was the second time he had headed Scudamore, and again he did not know him, this time because it was dark.  Rowland, however, recognised his voice as he called him to surrender, and rushed fiercely at him.  But scarcely had they met, when the cavalier, whose little strength had ere this all but given way to the unwonted fatigue, was suddenly overcome with faintness, and dropped from his horse.  Richard got down, lifted him, laid him across Lady’s shoulders, mounted, raised him into a better position, and, leading the other horse, brought him back to the inn.  There first he discovered that he was his prisoner whom he feared he had killed at Naseby.

When Rowland came to himself,

‘Are you able to ride a few miles, Mr Scudamore?’ asked Richard.

At first Rowland was too much chagrined, finding in whose power he was, to answer.

‘I am your prisoner,’ he said at length.  ’You are my evil genius, I think.  I have no choice.  Thy star is in the ascendant, and mine has been going down ever since first I met thee, Richard Heywood.’

Richard attempted no reply, but got Rowland’s horse, and assisted him to mount.

‘I want to do you a good turn, Mr Scudamore,’ he said, after they had ridden a mile in silence.

‘I look for nothing good at thy hand,’ said Scudamore.

’When thou findest what it is, I trust thou wilt change thy thought of me, Mr Scudamore.’

‘Sir Rowland, an’ it please you,’ said the prisoner, his boyish vanity roused by misfortune, and passing itself upon him for dignity.

‘Mere ignorance must be pardoned, sir Rowland,’ returned Richard:  ’I was unaware of your dignity.  But think you, sir Rowland, you do well to ride on such rough errands, while yet not recovered, as is but too plain to see, from former wounds?’

’It seems not, Mr. Heywood, for I had not else been your prize, I trust.  The wound I caught at Naseby has cost the king a soldier, I fear.’

’I hope it will cost no more than is already paid.  Men must fight, it seems, but I for one would gladly repair, an’ I might, what injuries I had been compelled to cause.’