“Pah! the same as of old; but you said—and his men.”
“Yes, about a dozen like him; ruffianly-looking, rag-bags of fellows, all armed, and looking like a gang of bullies and robbers.”
Sir Morton frowned, rose from his seat, and walked to the side of the room, where his sword and belt lay in front of a bookcase.
“Well, I suppose I must see the fellow. He served under me, years ago, Ralph, and I suppose he has come begging, unless he sees a chance to steal.”
“Then I was not unjust, father, in thinking ill of the man and disliking him.”
“Unjust? Pah! The fellow was a disgrace to the name of soldier; and now, I suppose, that there is no war on the way, he has been discharged from the king’s service, with a pack of his companions.”
“He said he had saved your life, father.”
Sir Morton laughed contemptuously. “I have no recollection of the fact, Ralph, boy, and I don’t think I should have forgotten so important a matter; but I do recollect saving his, by interceding when he was about to be shot for plundering some helpless people. There; let him and a couple of his men come in. The poor wretch is in a bad state, I suppose, and I will give him something to help him on his road.”
Ralph went to the door, but turned back, hesitating.
“Well, my boy?” said his father.