Yes, he would prove that, and, by his own deeds, wipe out the stain which seemed ready to tear his shrinking soul.
The curtain fell back into its place. Sir Henry turned to his grandson.
They did not speak, but stood there in the dying sunlight, whilst grey eyes alone spoke their promise to sunken blue ones.
Then the old, withered hand fell on the lad's shoulder.
"You understand?" he said simply.
Michael understood.
CHAPTER IV
ON THE COACH FROM OXFORD
A rough night, cold and wet, with a thin sleet falling and the wind blowing from the north-east full against the great coach which lumbered on its way from Oxford to London.