The man was watching Sir Morton keenly, and his big ears twitched, as he tried to catch the whispered words which passed between father and son.
“What do you say, Ralph, lad? With the help of these men I could easily make Eden bite the dust. Then the Black Tor would be mine, and afterwards yours; with all the rich revenue to be drawn from the lead-mine. It is very tempting, boy.”
“Yes, father,” said the boy hotly, and his face flushed as he spoke; “but that’s what it is—a miserable temptation. We’ll humble the Edens, and have the Black Tor and the lead-mine; but we’ll win all with our swords like gentlemen, or fail. We could not go and take the place with a set of ruffians like those outside, and helped by such a man as yonder bully. You couldn’t do it, father. Say no.”
“Hah! More insults,” cried Purlrose, who had caught a word here and there. “But no; lie still, good sword: he is a beardless boy, and the son of the brave comrade I always honoured, whate’er my faults.”
Ralph turned upon him angrily; but his father laid a hand upon the boy’s shoulder, and pressed it hard.
“Right, Ralph, lad,” he said warmly, and he looked proudly in the boy’s eyes. “I could not do it in that way.”
“Hah!” ejaculated the lad, with a sigh of content.
“No, Purlrose,” continued Sir Morton. “I shall not avail myself of your services. Go into the hall and refresh yourself and your men. Come to me afterward, and I will help you as I said.”
“With a mouthful of bread, and a few pence, and after all this weary journey across these wild moors. But I see: it is all through the words of this beardless boy. Suppose I tell you that, now I have come, I mean to stay?” he added threateningly.
“Shall I get the men together, father?” said Ralph quickly.