"I once felt that strongly; the trouble is that the objection applies with equal force to you. Your mother had a resolute character; your father was a daring man."
Blake coloured as he answered: "I'm glad you mentioned this; my parents can't be held responsible for my faults. You must know that rather surprising variations are apt to appear in a family strain. It's possible I'm what gardeners call a sport; a throwback to some inferior type. There may have been a weakling even among the Challoners."
"I have dreaded that there was one in the present generation," the Colonel answered with stern gravity. "But we get no farther. Do you deny the stories these people have told me?"
Blake felt that his task was hard. He had to convict himself and must do so logically, since Challoner was by no means a fool. As he nerved himself to the effort he was conscious of a rather grim amusement.
"I think it would be better if I tried to show you how the attack was made. Is the old set of Indian chessmen still in the drawer?"
"I believe so. It must be twenty years since they were taken out. It's strange you should remember them."
A stirring of half-painful emotions troubled Blake.
He loved the old house and all that it contained and had a deep-seated pride in the Challoner traditions. Now he must show that he was a degenerate scion of the honoured stock and could have no part in them.
"I have forgotten nothing at Sandymere, but we must stick to the subject." Crossing the floor he came back with the chessmen, which he carefully arranged, setting up the white pawns in two separate ranks to represent bodies of infantry, with the knights and bishops for officers. The coloured pieces he placed in an irregular mass.
"Now," he continued, "this represents the disposition of our force pretty well, and I've good reason for remembering it. I was here, at the top of the ravine"—he laid a cigar on the table to indicate the spot—"Bertram on the ridge yonder. This bunch of red pawns stands for the Ghazee rush."