ours, madam."

Cynthia looked with interest at the lank, soldierly figure. She, too,
had heard--as who had not?--wild stories of this man's achievements. But
of no feat of his had she been told that could rival that of his escape
from Worcester; and when, that same evening, Kenneth related it, as they
supped, her low-lidded eyes grew very wide, and as they fell on Crispin,
admiration had taken now the place of interest.

Romance swayed as great a portion of her heart as it does of most
women's. She loved the poets and their songs of great deeds; and here
was one who, in the light of that which they related of him, was like an
incarnation of some hero out of a romancer's ballad.

Kenneth she never yet had held in over high esteem; but of a sudden, in
the presence of this harsh-featured dog of war, this grim, fierce-eyed
ruffler, he seemed to fade, despite his comeliness of face and form,
into a poor and puny insignificance. And when, presently, he unwisely
related how, when in the boat he had fainted, the maiden laughed
outright for very scorn.

At this plain expression of contempt, her father shot her a quick,
uneasy glance. Kenneth stopped short, bringing his narrative abruptly to
a close. Reproachfully he looked at her, turning first red, then white,
as anger chased annoyance through his soul. Galliard looked on with
quiet relish; her laugh had contained that which for days he had carried
in his heart. He drained his bumper slowly, and made no attempt to
relieve the awkward silence that sat upon the company.

Truth to tell, there was emotion enough in the soul of him who was wont
to be the life of every board he sat at to hold him silent and even
moody.

Here, after eighteen years, was he again in his ancestral home of
Marleigh. But how was he returned? As one who came under a feigned name,
to seek from usurping hands a shelter 'neath his own roof; a beggar of
that from others which it should have been his to grant or to deny
those others. As an avenger he came. For justice he came, and armed with
retribution; the flame of a hate unspeakable burning in his heart, and
demanding the lives--no less--of those that had destroyed him and his.
Yet was he forced to sit a mendicant almost at that board whose head was
his by every right; forced to sit and curb his mood, giving no outward
sign of the volcano that boiled and raged within his soul as his eye
fell upon the florid, smiling face and portly, well-fed frame of Gr