" "I don't mind the throuble," hesitated Terence, who was really a good-hearted fellow at the bottom; "and I'd like to sarve you if I could, for you look like a gentleman's son, and that goes a great way wi' me. Hope you ate light before you got here. Perhaps it was loneliness. He will wish to have his fears laid to rest. 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. The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year. When she tried to speak she found it difficult. But with the skill of a fencer he met the blow and broke it, seizing the wrist.
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