"You have ruined my life," was all he said.

"I will rebuild it, Jocelyn," cried Galliard eagerly. "I have
friends in France - friends high in power who lack neither the
means nor the will to aid me. You are a soldier, Jocelyn."

"As much a soldier as I'm a saint," sneered Hogan to himself.

"Together we will find service in the armies of Louis," Crispin
pursued. "I promise it. Service wherein you shall gain honour
and renown. There we will abide until this England shakes
herself out of her rebellious nightmare. Then, when the King
shall come to his own, Castle Marleigh will be ours again.
Trust in me, Jocelyn." Again his arms went out appealingly:
"Jocelyn my son!"

But the boy made no move to take the outstretched hands, gave
no sign of relenting. His mind nurtured its resentment -
cherished it indeed.

"And Cynthia?" he asked coldly.

Crispin's hands fell to his sides; they grew clenched, and his
eyes lighted of a sudden.

"Forgive me, Jocelyn. I had forgotten! I understand you now.
Yes, I dealt sorely with you there, and you are right to be
resentful. What, after all, am I to you what can I be to you
compared with her whose image fills your soul? What is aught