From that moment I loved my grannie, and felt I owed her something as
well as my uncle. I had never had this feeling about my aunt.

'Grannie!' I said, trembling from a conflict of emotions; but before I
could utter my complaint, I had burst out crying.

'What have they been doing to you, child?' she asked, almost fiercely,
and sat up straight in her chair. Her voice, although feeble and
quavering, was determined in tone. She pushed me back from her and
sought the face I was ashamed to show. 'What have they done to you, my
boy?' she repeated, ere I could conquer my sobs sufficiently to speak.

'They have taken away the sword that--'

'What sword?' she asked quickly. 'Not the sword that your
great-grandfather wore when he followed Sir Marmaduke?'

'I don't know, grannie.'

'Don't know, boy? The only thing your father took when he--. Not the
sword with the broken sheath? Never! They daren't do it! I will go down
myself. I must see about it at once.'

'Oh, grannie, don't!' I cried in terror, as she rose from her chair.
'They'll not let me ever come near you again, if you do.'

She sat down again. After seeming to ponder for a while in silence, she
said:--