"Rumsey," said Ruth; "I heard father call him so—Colonel Rumsey."
CHAPTER XI.
"HE DIED FOR HIS KING."
"Hush!" whispered Lawrence, gripping her fast by the arm, and looking hurriedly round. "And—well, what more did you hear? Tell me the truth now."
"Lawrence," she said, timorously following his glance, "I want to tell it you. But 'twas all such a confusion. Just a word here and there; yet, oh, Lawrence! such fearful ones; of their own evil ways, and of—of killing—of killing! Oh! shake your head if you like; but they did, I tell you. And then some one said something about—think, Lawrence—about the king."
"Ay?"
"And of laying him low upon his own highway. Think of it;" and Ruth shivered in the bright sunshine.
"They were full, it seems, of their merry jests, these roystering gentlemen," said Lee.
"Nay, I like not such jests; and I'd not have you joining in them, nor my father neither," she said.
"Oh! but he's their arch-jester," cynically laughed Lawrence. "We're a merry company, we boys, my dear."