"Shall a man need an invitation to his own house, my son?" he said at
last.

The arrogant lips of the young man tightened; he tossed up his head. "The
house is mine. I am the master here. You are an outlaw."

"An outlaw no longer," answered the old man, "for the Protector has
granted me again the home of which I was cruelly dispossessed."

"The Protector is a rebel!" returned the young man, and his knuckles
rapped petulantly upon the table. "I stand for the King--for King Charles
the Second. When you were dispossessed, his late martyred Majesty made me
master of this estate and a knight also."

The old man's hands clinched, in the effort to rule himself to quietness.

"You are welcome to the knighthood which I have never accepted," said he;
"but for these estates--" All at once a fierce anger possessed him, and
the great shoulders heaved up and down with emotion--"but for these
estates, sir, no law nor king can take them from me. I am John Enderby,
the first son of a first son, the owner of these lands since the time my
mother gave me birth. You, sir, are the first of our name that ever was a
traitor to his house."

So intent were the two that they did not see or hear three men who drew
aside the curtains at the end of the room and stood spying upon
them--three of Cromwell's men. Young Enderby laughed sneeringly and
answered:

"It was a King of England that gave Enderby Manor to the Enderbys. The