“I must speak the truth, boy,” said the old man. “You feel it now; but some day, when you are a man grown, and your old friend has gone to sleep, and is lying under the flowers and herbs and trees that he loved in life, you will often think of his words, and that he was right.”
Ralph was silent.
“I am not a man of war, my boy, but a man of peace. All the same, though, whenever either your father or young Mark Eden’s arms his men to drive these ruffians out of our land, I am going to gird on my old sword, which is as bright and sharp as ever, to strike a blow for the women and children. Yes, for pretty Minnie Darley, and Mary Eden too. For I love ’em both, boy, and have ever since they were bairns.”
Ralph went back home to Cliff Castle, thinking very deeply about the old man’s words, and wishing—and planning in a vague way—that he and Mark Eden could be friendly enough to act in some way together without the help or knowledge of their fathers, and make an attack upon these men, so as to put an end to a state of things which kept all women-kind prisoners in their homes, and the men in a state of suspense as to when next they should be attacked and plundered of all they had.
It was only natural that Master Rayburn should talk in an almost similar way to Mark Eden and his father, but only for Sir Edward to promise and not perform. And one day the old man actually took Ralph’s idea, and said suddenly to Mark:
“Look here, young fellow, why don’t you take the bit in your teeth, collect your men quietly, get Ralph Darley to do the same, and you boys go together and thrash those ruffians out, kill them, or take them prisoners. Old as I am, I’ll come and help.”
“Yes, why not?” cried Mark eagerly. “No,” he said directly; “the Darleys would not and could not join us even if I were willing; and I’m not.”
Old Master Rayburn’s words went deeper into the breasts of the two lads than they knew. Their natures were in those early days rather like tinder, and in his angry flint and steely way, the old man had struck a spark into each, which lay there latent, waiting to be blown into a hot glow; and who should perform that office but Captain Purlrose himself?
It was in this way. One bright morning, Sir Edward was examining a young partly-broken horse that had been reared in the pastures across the river, and expressed himself delighted with its appearance.
“What do you say to it, Mark?” he cried. “Not strong enough to carry me, but I should think it would suit Mary exactly.”