" "I am one-and-twenty," observed Jack. A native of Manchester, he was the son of Kenelm Kneebone, a staunch Catholic, and a sergeant of dragoons, who lost his legs and his life while fighting for James the Second at the battle of the Boyne, and who had little to bequeath his son except his laurels and his loyalty to the house of Stuart. How long he sat there, reeling off this drivel, he never knew. She was alone with a deadly enemy. “I’m damned if I’ll believe it,” he muttered to himself savagely. Ireton rushed forward to open the wicket for him. He drew a little sigh of relief. Already she had sent him twenty pounds, and never written to explain to him why it was she had not sent it back sharply directly he returned it. ‘Assuredly it is locked up.
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