“And poor Deborah,” added Rose, “from the same thoughtlessness repeated her chatter to Diggory, who has betrayed us.”
“The cowardly villain,” cried Walter, who had come forward to the group round his brother.
“Hush, Walter,” said Edmund. “But what do I see? Your hands bound? You a prisoner?”
“Poor Walter was rash enough to attempt resistance,” said his mother.
“So, sir,” said Edmund, turning to the rebel captain, “you attach great importance to the struggles of a boy of thirteen!”
“A blow with the butt-end of a fishing-rod is no joke from boy or man,” answered the officer.
“When last I served in England,” continued the cavalier, “Cromwell’s Ironsides did not take notice of children with fishing-rods. You can have no warrant, no order, or whatever you pretend to act by, against him.”
“Why—no, sir; but—however, the young gentleman has had a lesson, and I do not care if I do loose his hands. Here, unfasten him. But I cannot permit him to be at large while you are in the house.”
“Very well, then, perhaps you will allow him to share my chamber. We have been separated for so many years, and it may be our last meeting.”
“So let it be. Since you are pleased to be conformable, sir, I am willing to oblige you,” answered the rebel, whose whole demeanour had curiously changed in the presence of one of such soldierly and gentleman-like bearing as Edmund, prisoner though he was. “Now, madam, to your own chamber. You will all meet to-morrow.”