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She knew the story only imperfectly, and followed it now with a passionate and deepening interest. ’ ‘Bravo,’ applauded Lucilla, clapping her hands. 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. ’ ‘What name would you like, then?’ Her shadowed features turned in his direction. “And for me it has been Pride and Pride and Pride! “I am the prodigal daughter. I shall still believe in you. “Do you mean, aunt,” she asked, “that my father thought I had gone off—with some man?” “What else COULD he think? Would any one DREAM you would be so mad as to go off alone?” “After—after what had happened the night before?” “Oh, why raise up old scores? If you could see him this morning, his poor face as white as a sheet and all cut about with shaving! He was for coming up by the very first train and looking for you, but I said to him, ‘Wait for the letters,’ and there, sure enough, was yours. Ah Cum, sensing the difficulty, approached, recovered the damp handkerchief and returned it. . ’ Hilary’s jaw dropped open, and he stood stupidly staring, the nun’s clothing dangling from his hand. " "Indeed!" said Shotbolt. Love and lavender, he thought, perhaps wistfully.

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