when they had had any good ale, or were out of sorts.

Poor fellows, there was no doubt of their being out of sorts, as they
tramped along, half hidden in dust, even the officers, who rode
before them, with ragged plumes and slouched hats. The silken
banners, which they had been allowed to carry out, because of their
prompt surrender, hung limp and soiled, almost like tokens of a
defeat, and if any one of those spectators behind the hawthorns had
been conversant with Roman history, it would have seemed to them like
the passing under the yoke, so dejected, nay, ashamed was the
demeanour of the gentlemen. Emlyn whispered name after name as they
went by, but even she was hushed and overawed by the spectacle, as
four abreast these sad remnants of the royal army marched along the
lane, one or two trying to whistle, a few more talking in under
tones, but all soon dying away, as if they were too much out of heart
to keep anything up.

She scarcely stirred while the infantry, who were by far the most
numerous, were going by, only naming corps or officer to Stead, then
there came an interval, and the tread of horses and clank of their
trappings could be heard. Then she almost forgot her precautions in
her eagerness to crane forward. "They are coming!" she said. "All
there are of them will be a guard for the Prince."

Stead felt a strange thrill of pain as he remembered the terrible
scene when he had last beheld that tall, slight young figure, and
dark face, now far sterner and sadder than in those early days, as
Rupert went to meet the bitterest hour of his life.

Several gentlemen rode with him, whom Emlyn named as his staff, and