The Disguise 261 VI. Without care he will die. It had been easy to steal. On coming to himself, he found he had been wrapped in a blanket and put to bed with a couple of hot bricks to his feet. “Really, daddy, I am sorry for all I have done to put you out. We stepped from the Embassy into the motor—and oh! I thought that he was dead. “How did you hear that?” Lucy’s brows knitted. 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. But, in spite of his general insensibility to such matters, Quilt could not help commenting upon the delicious perfume wafted from the numerous flower-beds past which they were driving. .
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