“Can’t be did, my lord baron,” said the driver; “it would crush a dozen people.”
“Go on and crush them, then!”
“Oh, sir,” said Andrea.
“No, no, father,” said a young gentleman beside the old baron inside.
“Hello, what baron is this who wants to crush the poor?” cried several threatening voices.
“The Baron of Taverney Redcastle—I,” replied the old noble, leaning out and showing that he wore a red sash crosswise.
Such emblems of the royal and knightly orders were still respected, and though there was grumbling it was on a lessening tone.
“Wait, father,” said the young gentleman, “I will step out and see if there is some way of getting on.”
“Look out, Philip,” said the girl, “you will get hurt. Only hear the horses neighing as they lash out.”
Philip Taverney, Knight of Redcastle, was a charming cavalier and, though he did not resemble his sister, he was as handsome for a man as she for her sex.