“Yes, sir.”
Kenneth flushed, for it seemed to him that his father was casting a doubt on his friend’s pluck.
“Yes, father, that he did; and no fellow could have fought better.”
“This is most delicious!” cried The Mackhai mockingly. “You, Maximilian Blande, fought with all your might to defend my home from these people?”
“I thought the property of the gentleman who had been very kind to me was in danger, sir, and I helped his son with all my might,” said Max warmly. “I’m sorry if I’ve done wrong. Don’t be angry with Kenneth, sir. I’m sure he meant to do what was right.”
“Right!” cried the Mackhai. “You young idiots, you don’t know what you’ve done,—you do not, Kenneth. As for you, you young viper, are you as cunning as you are high, or is this childishness and—”
“Mackhai! Mackhai!” yelled Scoodrach, coming tearing into the courtyard from the house. “Maister Maister Ken, Maister Max, ta deevils have been and cot ta poat, and they’ve landed on ta rocks, and got into ta house.”
“What!” cried Kenneth excitedly. “Come on, father. Oh, why didn’t I put a sentry there?”
Taken in the rear, the boy felt, and, forgetful of his father’s words, he was about to rush away to the defence, when, paler than ever, his father clapped his hand upon his shoulder.
“Stop!” he cried; and he drew himself up to his full height, as there were the sounds of feet from within, and the bailiff came through the inner archway of the castle, to stand among the ruins of old Dunroe, to proclaim the ruin of the new.