“Salute, brave boys, salute,” cried the captain. “Youth and beauty in front—the worship of the gallant soldiers of the king.”
He struck an attitude, which was roughly imitated by the men.
“A sister, on my life,” cried the captain.
“This way,” said Ralph shortly, and with the colour coming into his cheeks, as he felt indignant with the man for daring to notice his sister, and angry with her for being there.
The door of Sir Morton’s room was thrown open, and the captain strode in, followed by his men; and, as he saw the knight, standing with his back to the fireplace, he struck a fresh attitude.
“Ah! at last!” he cried. “My old brave companion-in-arms! Well met, once more.”
He stretched out his hands, and swaggered forward to grasp Sir Morton’s.
“Halt!” cried that gentleman sharply, without stirring from his position. “Now, Captain Purlrose, what is your business with me?”
“Business with you? Is this my reception, after long years of absence? Ah, I see! The war-worn soldier forgotten once again. Ah, Sir Morton Darley, why humble me before my gallant men?”
“I have not forgotten you, Captain Purlrose. I remember you perfectly, and you are not changed in the least. Now, if you please, be brief, and explain your business.”