‘The ape!  The coxcomb!’ said Richard to himself.

’I am not, therefore, dying for her love; and I give you this one honest warning that, though I would rather see mistress Dorothy in her winding-sheet than dame to a roundhead, I should be—­yes, I may be a more dangerous rival in respect of your mare, than of any lady you are likely to set eyes upon.’

‘What do you mean?’ said Richard gruffly.

’I mean that, the king having at length resolved to be more of a monarch and less of a saint—­’

‘A saint!’ echoed Richard, but the echo was rather a loud one, for it startled his mare and shook her rider.

‘Don’t shout like that!’ cried the cavalier, with an oath.  ’Saint or sinner, I care not.  He is my king, and I am his soldier.  But with this knee you have given me, I shall be fitter for garrison than field-duty—­damn it.’

’You do not mean that his majesty has declared open war against the parliament?’ exclaimed Richard.

‘Faithless puritan, I do,’ answered Scudamore.  ’His majesty has at length—­with reluctance, I am sorry to hear—­taken up arms against his rebellious subjects.  Land will be cheap by-and-by.’

‘Many such rumours have reached us,’ returned Richard, quietly.  ’The king spares no threats; but for blows—­well!’

‘Insolent fanatic!’ shouted Vaughan, ’I tell you his majesty is on his way from Scotland with an army of savages; and London has declared for the king.’

Richard and his mare simultaneously quickened their pace.

’Then it is time you were in bed, Mr Scudamore, for my mare and I will be wanted,’ he cried.  ’God be praised!  I thank you for the good news.  It makes me young again to hear it.’

‘What the devil do you mean by jerking this cursed knee of mine so?’ shouted Scudamore.  ’Faith, you were young enough in all conscience already, you fool!  You want to keep me in bed, as well as send me there!  Well out of the way, you think!  But I give you honest warning to look after your mare, for I vow I have fallen in love with her.  She’s worth three, at least, of your mistress Dorothies.’

‘You talk like a Dutch boor,’ said Richard.

‘Saith an English lout,’ retorted Scudamore.  ’But, all things being lawful in love and war, not to mention hate and rebellion, this mare, if I am blessed with a chance, shall be—­well, shall be translated.’

‘You mean from Redware to Raglan.’

’Where she shall be entertained in a manner worthy of her, which is saying no little, if all her paces and points be equal to her walk and her crest.’

‘I trust you will be more pitiful to my poor Lady,’ said Richard, quietly.  ’If all they say be true, Raglan stables are no place for a mare of her breeding.’

‘What do you mean, roundhead?’

’Folk say your stables at Raglan are like other some Raglan matters—­of the infernal sort.’

Scudamore was silent for a moment.