‘It is a wile of the enemy,’ said Stopchase.  ’Truly, it were no marvel to me were the good mare at this moment eating her oats in the very stall where we have even but now in vain sought her.  I will go and search for her with my hands.’

‘Verily,’ said Mr. Heywood with a smile, ’to fear the devil is not to run from him!—­How much of her hay hath she eaten, Stopchase?’ he added, as the man returned with disconsolate look.

‘About a bottle, sir,’ answered Stopchase, rather indefinitely; but the conclusion drawn was, that she had been taken very soon after the house was quiet.

The fact was, that since the return of their soldiers, poor watch had been kept by the people of Redware.  Increase of confidence had led to carelessness.  Mr. Heywood afterwards made inquiry, and had small reason to be satisfied with what he discovered.

‘The thief must have been one who knew the place,’ said Faithful.

‘Why dost thou think so?’ asked his master.

‘How swooped he else so quietly upon the best animal, sir?’ returned the man.

‘She was in the place of honour,’ answered Mr. Heywood.

‘Scudamore!’ said Richard to himself.  It might be no light—­only a flash in his brain.  But that even was precious in the utter darkness.

‘Sir,’ he said, turning to his father, ’I would I had a plan of Raglan stables.’

‘What wouldst thou an’ thou hadst, my son?’ asked Mr. Heywood.

’Nay, sir, that wants thinking.  But I believe my poor mare is at this moment in one of those vaults they tell us of.’

’It may be, my son.  It is reported that the earl hath of late been generous in giving of horses.  Poor soldiers the king will find them that fight for horses, or titles either.  Such will never stand before them that fight for the truth—­in the love thereof!  Eh, Richard?’

‘Truly, sir, I know not,’ answered his son, disconsolately.  ’I hope I love the truth, and I think so doth Stopchase, after his kind; and yet were we of those that fled from Atherton moor.’

’Thou didst not flee until thou couldst no more, my son.  It asketh greater courage of some men to flee when the hour of flight hath come, for they would rather fight on to the death than allow, if but to their own souls, that they are foiled.  But a man may flee in faith as well as fight in faith, my son, and each is good in its season.  There is a time for all things under the sun.  In the end, when the end cometh, we shall see how it hath all gone.  When, then, wilt thou ride?’

‘To-morrow, an’ it please you, sir.  I should fight but evil with the knowledge that I had left my best battle-friend in the hands of the Philistines, nor sent even a cry after her.’

’What boots it, Richard?  If she be within Raglan walls, they yield her not again.  Bide thy time; and when thou meetest thy foe on thy friend’s back, woe betide him!’

‘Amen, sir!’ said Richard.  ’But with your leave I will not go to-day.  I give you my promise I will go to-morrow.’