The words rang in the boy's ears as he stood alone amongst trampled marigolds long after an indignant brother had dragged off to summary justice a sobbing and rebellious sister.
CHAPTER III
A TRAITOR'S SON
"So you fought Morice Conyers?"
Michael nodded.
He had found that the shorter his answers the better pleased his grandfather was.
The old man's hand, resting idly on his knee, clenched and unclenched.
Outside the birds were singing carols of love to the roses after the joy of a summer shower. The scent of wet, brown earth was alluring to Michael, yet he sat still, knowing that something momentous stirred in the evening air.
The lines round Sir Henry's mouth were hardening.