that night in Worcester--for the lad's affection, and yet,
for all his yearning, he realized that with the conviction that Kenneth
was his offspring came a dull sense of disappointment. He was not such
a son as the rakehelly knight would have had him. Swiftly he put the
thought from him. The craven hands that had reared the lad had warped
his nature; he would guide it henceforth; he would straighten it out
into a nobler shape.

Then he smiled bitterly to himself. What manner of man was he to train
a youth to loftiness and honour?--he, a debauched ruler with a nickname
for which, had he any sense of shame, he would have blushed! Again he
remembered the lad's disposition towards himself; but these, he thought,
he hoped, he knew that he would now be able to overcome.

He closed the window, and turned to face his companion. He was himself
again, and calm, for all that his face was haggard beyond its wont.

"Hogan, where is the boy?"

"I have detained him in the inn. Will you see him now?"

"At once, Hogan. I am convinced."

The Irishman crossed the chamber, and opening the door he called an
order to the trooper waiting in the passage.

Some minutes they waited, standing, with no word uttered between them.
At last steps sounded in the corridor, and a moment later Kenneth was
rudely thrust into the room. Hogan signed to the trooper, who closed the
door and withdrew.

As Kenneth entered, Crispin advanced a step and paused, his eyes
devouring the lad and receiving in exchange a glance that was full of
malevolence.

"I might have known, sir, that you were not far away," he exclaimed
bitterly, forgetting for the moment how he had left Crispin behind him
on the previous night. "I might have guessed that my detention was your
work."

"Why so?" asked Crispin quietly, his eyes ever scanning the lad's face
with a pathetic look.

"Because it is your way, I know not why, to work my ruin in all things.
Not satisfied with involving me in that business at Castle Marleigh, you
must needs cross my path again when I am about to make amends, and so
blight my last chance. My God, sir, am I never to be rid of you? What
harm have I done you?"

A spasm of pain, like a ripple over water, crossed the knight's swart
face.

"If you but consider, Kenneth," he said, speaking very quietly, "you
must see the injustice of your words. Since when has Crispin Galliard
served the Parliament, that Roundhead troopers should do his bidding as
y