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. Then he was surrounded by black-clad nuns, and Melusine felt an unknown hand grab away her own sword. At every step he seemed to be haunted by the ghost of the past. “I am very glad to hear you say it,” he repeated, and refrained from further inquiry. I believe I am getting impudent.
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