"Yes, sir," I muttered.
"What?" whispered Cecile.
"Father means the war. Our cousin Ormond is going to the war," exclaimed Ruyven, softly.
There was a pause; then Cecile flung both arms around my neck and kissed me in choking silence. The patroon's great, fat hand sought mine and held it; Ruyven placed his arm about my shoulder. Never had I imagined that I could love these kinsmen of mine so dearly.
"There's always a bed for you here; remember that, my lad," growled the patroon.
"Take me, too," sniffed Ruyven.
"Eh! What?" cried the patroon. "I'll take you; oh yes--over my knee, you impudent puppy! Let me catch you sneaking off to this war and I'll--"
Ruyven relapsed into silence, staring at me in troubled fascination.
"The house is yours, George," grunted the patroon. "Help yourself to what you need for your journey."
"Thank you, sir; say good-bye to the children, kiss them all for me, Cecile. And don't run away and get married until I come back."