His father spoke for him. It was not an affair of the conscience; it was vaguely based upon insolence and defiance. Wood was dressed with more than ordinary care, and in more than ordinary finery. Nevertheless Sydney, clumsily, but earnestly, had something to say about it. “A little nervous. " The poor widow hung her head, and pressed her child closer to her breast. 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. ‘We was of an age, you see, miss. I’ve made an ally of her champion. ‘I can answer that.
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