. Leave the window, Myles! They've
promised us a half hour's truce--and Cromwell's a man of his
word.

NEWCOMBE (_bringing a lighted candle_). He'll let us pass free now,
sir, will he not?

HUGH TALBOT (_lighting his pipe at the candle_). You're not afraid,
Kit?

NEWCOMBE. I? Faith, no, sir. No! Not now!

HUGH TALBOT. Sit ye down, Phelimy, lad! You look dead on your
feet. Give me to see that arm! (_As_ HUGH TALBOT _starts toward_
DRISCOLL, _his eye falls on the open keg of powder. He draws back
hastily, covering his lighted pipe._) Jack Talbot! Who taught ye
to leave your powder uncovered, where lighted match was laid?

BUTLER. My blame, sir.

(_Covers the keg._)

JOHN TALBOT. We opened the keg, and then--

FENTON. Truth, we did not cover it again, being somewhat pressed
for time.

(_The five laugh, half hysterically._)

HUGH TALBOT (_sitting by fire_). And you never thought, maybe, that
in that keg there was powder enough to blow the bridge of Cashala
to hell?

JOHN TALBOT. It seemed a matter of small moment, sir.

HUGH TALBOT. Small moment! Powder enough, put case ye set it
there, at the stairhead--d'ye follow me?--powder enough to make
an end of Cashala Bridge for all time--aye, and of all within the
Gatehouse. You never thought on that, eh?

JOHN TALBOT. We had so much to think on, sir.

HUGH TALBOT. I did suspect as much. So I came hither to recall
the powder to your minds.

DRISCOLL. We thought--(BUTLER _motions him to be silent._) We
thought maybe you would not be coming at all, sir. Maybe you
would be dead.

HUGH TALBOT. Well? What an if I had been dead? You had your
orders. You did not dream of giving up the Bridge of Cashala--eh,
Myles Butler?

BUTLER (_after a moment_). No, sir.

HUGH TALBOT. Nor you, Dick Fenton?

FENTON. Sir, I--No!

HUGH TALBOT (_smoking throughout_). Good lads! The wise heads were
saying I was a stark fool to set you here at Cashala. But I said:
I can be trusting the young riders that are learning their
lessons in war from me. I'll be safe putting my honor into their
hands. And I was right, wasn't I, Phelimy Driscoll?

DRISCOLL. Give us the chance, sir, and we'll be holding Cashala,
even against the devil himself!

FENTON. Aye, well said!

HUGH TALBOT. Sure,'tis a passing good substitute for the devil
sits yonder in Cromwell's tent.

NEWCOMBE (_with a shudder_). Cromwell!

HUGH TALBOT. Aye, he was slaying your brother at Drogheda, Kit,
and a fine, ga