You did not complain then that I personated you—no, nor when Sir John came to me in Paris, and for your sake I lied. I’m six hundred and forty-eight years old, John! I should have never seduced a young boy, let alone expected him to keep my secrets for me. Once more breaking through the hedge he took to the fields. He eyed the young couple with the tragic history behind them, and could only suppose that familiarity had dulled their senses. “We are both of us trenching upon forbidden ground,” she said. 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.
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