l ensigns of
Lesley's Scottish horse--caring never a fig for the Solemn League and
Covenant--rubbed shoulders with beribboned Cavaliers of Lord Talbot's
company; gay young lairds of Pitscottie's Highlanders, unmindful of the
Kirk's harsh commandments of sobriety, sat cheek by jowl with rakehelly
officers of Dalzell's Brigade, and pledged the King in many a stoup of
canary and many a can of stout March ale.

On every hand spirits ran high and laughter filled the chamber, the
mirth of some having its source in a neighbour's quip, that of others
having no source at all save in the wine they had taken.

At one table sat a gentleman of the name of Faversham, who had ridden on
the previous night in that ill-fated camisado that should have
resulted in the capture of Cromwell at Spetchley, but which, owing to a
betrayal--when was a Stuart not betrayed and sold?--miscarried. He was
relating to the group about him the details of that disaster.

"Oddslife, gentlemen," he was exclaiming, "I tell you that, but for that
roaring dog, Sir Crispin Galliard, the whole of Middleton's regiment had
been cut to pieces. There we stood on Red Hill, trapped as ever fish
in a net, with the whole of Lilburne's men rising out of the ground to
enclose and destroy us. A living wall of steel it was, and on every hand
the call to surrender. There was dismay in my heart, as I'll swear there
was dismay in the heart of every man of us, and I make little doubt,
gentlemen, that with but scant pressing we had thrown down our arms, so
disheartened were we by that ambush. Then of a sudden there arose above
the clatter of steel and Puritan cries, a loud, clear, defiant shout of
'Hey for Cavaliers!'"

"I turned, and there in his stirrups stood that madman Galliard, waving
his sword and holding his company together with the power of his will,
his courage, and his voice. The sight of him was like wine to our blood.
'Into them, gentlemen; follow me!' he roared. And then, with a hurricane
of oaths, he hurled his company against the pike-men. The blow was
irresistible, and above the din of it came that voice of his again: 'Up,
Cavaliers! Slash the cuckolds to ribbons, gentlemen!' The cropears gave
way, and like a river that has burst its dam, we poured through the
opening in their ranks and headed back for Worcester."

There was a roar of voices as Faversham ended, and around that table
"The Tavern Knight" was for some minutes the only toast.

Meanwhile half a