’Dost call it a boyish thing to be madly in love with the fairest and noblest and bravest mistress that ever trod the earth—­though she be half a puritan, alack?’

‘She half a puritan!’ exclaimed Heywood.  ’She hates the very wind of the word.’

’She may hate the word, but she is the thing.  She hath read me such lessons as none but a puritan could.’

’Were they not then good lessons, that thou joinest with them a name hateful to thee?’

’Ay, truly—­much too good for mortal like me—­or thee either, Heywood.  They are but hypocrites that pretend otherwise.’

‘Callest thou thy cousin a hypocrite?’

’No, by heaven! she is not.  She is a woman, and it is easy for women to say prayers.’

‘I never rode into a fight but I said my prayer,’ returned Richard.

’None the less art thou a hypocrite.  I should scorn to be for ever begging favours as thou.  Dost think God heareth such prayers as thine?’

’Not if He be such as thou, sir Rowland, and not if he who prays be such as thou thinkest him.  Prithee, what sort of prayer thinkest thou I pray ere I ride into the battle?’

’How should I know?  My lord marquis would have had me say my prayers at such a time, but, good sooth!  I always forgot.  And if I had done it, where would have been the benefit thereof, so long as thou, who wast better used to the work, wast praying against me?  I say it is a cowardly thing to go praying into the battle, and not take thy fair chance as other men do.’

’Then will I tell thee to what purpose I pray.  But, first of all, I must confess to thee that I have had my doubts, not whether my side were more in the right than thine, but whether it were worth while to raise the sword even in such cause.  Now, still when that doubt cometh, ever it taketh from my arm the strength, and going down into the very legs of my mare causeth that she goeth dull, although willing, into the battle.  Moreover, I am no saint, and therefore cannot pray like a saint, but only like Richard Heywood, who hath got to do his duty, and is something puzzled.  Therefore pray I thus, or to this effect: 

’"O God of battles! who, thyself dwelling in peace, beholdest the strife, and workest thy will thereby, what that good and perfect will of thine is I know not clearly, but thou hast sent us to be doing, and thou hatest cowardice.  Thou knowest I have sought to choose the best, so far as goeth my poor ken, and to this battle I am pledged.  Give me grace to fight like a soldier of thine, without wrath and without fear.  Give me to do my duty, but give the victory where thou pleasest.  Let me live if so thou wilt; let me die if so thou wilt—­only let me die in honour with thee.  Let the truth be victorious, if not now, yet when it shall please thee; and oh!  I pray, let no deed of mine delay its coming.  Let my work fail, if it be unto evil, but save my soul in truth.”