Sir Morton was reading an old tome as his son entered the room, hot, eager, and excited.
“Well, boy,” he said, looking up dreamily; “what is it?”
“They’ve gone straight to Black Tor, father.”
“The Edens? Have they? I did not know they had been away.”
“No, no, father; that captain fellow and his men.”
“Oh, of course. I had almost forgotten them. Tut, tut, tut! It will be very awkward for us, Ralph, if Sir Edward listens to that scoundrel’s proposals. But there, it cannot be helped. There never was an Eden yet who was a gentlemen, and all we have to do is to be well prepared. The old tower is stronger than ever, and if they come we’ll fight them from the outer gate to the wall, from the wall to the inner wall, and if they drive us from that, there is the tower, where we can set them at defiance.”
“As old Sir Ralph did, father,” cried the boy, flushing with pride.
“Exactly, my boy; and I do not feel much fear of Captain Purlrose and his men.”
“No, father; I suppose he will keep on half-drawing his sword, and thrusting it back with a clang.”
“Exactly, Ralph, boy,” cried Sir Morton, laughing. “Just that one act shows the man’s character to a T. Bluster, and then retreat. But suppose it should come to fighting, my boy. Hadn’t you better go back to school, and stay till the trouble’s over?”