JOHN TALBOT. What was that?
FENTON. 'Twas naught but young Newcombe that cried out in the clutch of a nightmare.
BUTLER. 'Tis time Kit Newcombe rose and stood his watch.
JOHN TALBOT (leaving the window). Nay, 'tis only a boy. Let him sleep while he can! Let him sleep!
BUTLER. Turn and turn at the watch, 'tis but fair. Stir yonder sluggard awake, Dick!
FENTON. Aye. (Starts to rise.)
JOHN TALBOT. Who gives commands here? Sit you down, Fenton! To your place, Myles Butler!
BUTLER. Captain of the Gate! D'ye mark the high tone of him,
Dick?
JOHN TALBOT (tying a fresh bandage about his hand). You're out there, Myles. There is but one Captain of the Gate of Connaught—he who set me here—my cousin, Hugh Talbot.
BUTLER (muttering). Aye, and it's a deal you'll need to be growing, ere you fill Hugh Talbot's shoes.