“Nay, none shall take it from you, Cornet Gwyeth,” the captain laughed, and turned to the trumpeter to sound the order to march forward.
They rode slowly down the slope to the bridge. The water splashed beneath the archway, and the horses’ hoofs sounded hollow on the road; Hugh listened happily, while his thoughts sped back to the last time he had crossed the bridge, a friendless little runaway. On the thought he turned in his saddle and gazed back at the church that now showed black against the sunset sky. Did the mother who lay buried there, he wondered, know that at last he had found Alan Gwyeth? He faced slowly to the front again, and as he faced he met the captain’s eyes; there were no words between them, but each guessed something of the other’s thoughts. Hugh tightened his hold on Bayard’s bridle and drew close, so he rode knee to knee with his father.
“ANOTHER BEWITCHING ROMANCE”
—The Times, New York
THE PRIDE OF JENNICO
BEING A MEMOIR OF CAPTAIN BASIL JENNICO
BY
AGNES and EGERTON CASTLE