"I give it to King James—not so you: for the furtherance of a great and holy cause, not for the prosecution of wild and unprofitable schemes. "I'll have to set you right on that, too. The slim knife was wrested from her grasp, and she was flung backwards, towards the bookcases. She turned back to Gerald, holding out her hand. His sword-arm fell useless at his side and she knew herself safe. 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. She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver. "Forgive—forgive me!" "I have nothing to forgive," replied Mrs. She had found him! Excitement welled.
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