"My invitation did not extend to them. 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. You see—I didn’t understand. ” He said cruelly as she gazed at him in fear. ’ She was silent for a space, and it was evident that this part of the story was still too painful to be recalled with ease. From a scout stationed at the northern entrance, whom she addressed in the jargon of the place, with which long usage had formerly rendered her familiar, she ascertained that Blueskin, accompanied by a youth, whom she knew by the description must be her son, had arrived there about three hours before, and had proceeded to the Cross Shovels. His name was Peter. Save us!" he cried, as his glance accidentally alighted on the drawing, which Winifred had dropped in her agitation.
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