In the sixth center row sat an unexpected guest, his Classical Greek features stark in the yellow half light. ’ The core of hurt rose up, tearing at her insides. . Why? He could preach the Word and deny Love!—tame the savage heart, succour broken white men!—pray with his face strained with religious fervour! The idea made her dizzy because it was so inexplicable. Conceiving himself called upon, as the intimate friend of the deceased, to pay this last tribute of respect to her memory, he appeared as one of the chief mourners. ‘I dropped the lantern,’ Jack’s muffled voice told her. A native of Manchester, he was the son of Kenelm Kneebone, a staunch Catholic, and a sergeant of dragoons, who lost his legs and his life while fighting for James the Second at the battle of the Boyne, and who had little to bequeath his son except his laurels and his loyalty to the house of Stuart. ” He ran around his car and opened the door for her as she desperately tried to view out of the corner of her eye the man sitting silently in the squad car.
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