tarry we here?"

"Catesby," returned the duke, "here is the battle, not elsewhere. The
rest are but feigned onslaughts. Here must we vanquish. And for the
exposure--if ye were an ugly hunchback, and the children gecked at you
upon the street, ye would count your body cheaper, and an hour of glory
worth a life. Howbeit, if ye will, let us ride on and visit the other
posts. Sir Richard here, my namesake, he shall still hold this entry,
where he wadeth to the ankles in hot blood. Him can we trust. But mark
it, Sir Richard, ye are not yet done. The worst is yet to ward. Sleep
not."

He came right up to young Shelton, looking him hard in the eyes, and
taking his hand in both of his, gave it so extreme a squeeze that the
blood had nearly spurted. Dick quailed before his eyes. The insane
excitement, the courage, and the cruelty that he read therein filled him
with dismay about the future. This young duke's was indeed a gallant
spirit, to ride foremost in the ranks of war; but after the battle, in
the days of peace and in the circle of his trusted friends, that mind, it
was to be dreaded, would continue to bring forth the fruits of death.

CHAPTER III--THE BATTLE OF SHOREBY (Concluded)

Dick, once more left to his own counsels, began to look about him. The
arrow-shot had somewhat slackened. On all sides the enemy were falling
back; and the greater part of the market-place was now left empty, the
snow here trampled into orange mud, there splashed with gore, scattered
all over with dead men and horses, and bristling thick with feathered
arrows.

On his own side the loss had been cruel. The jaws of the little street
and the ruins of the barricade were heaped with the dead and dying; and
out of the hundred men with whom he had begun the battle, there were not
seventy left who could still stand to arms.

At the same time, the day was passing. The first reinforcements might be
looked for to arrive at any moment; and the Lancastrians, already shaken
by the result of their desperate but unsuccessful onslaught, were in an
ill temper to support a fresh invader.

There was a dial in the wall of one of the two flanking houses; and this,
in the frosty winter sunshine, indicated ten of the forenoon.

Dick turned to the man who was at his elbow, a little insignificant
archer, binding a cut in his arm.

"It was well fought," he said, "and, by my sooth, they will not charge us
twice."

"Sir," said the little ar