Mason was no longer a "rough diamond," but
an example of what a "Western training will sometimes do for a
man," he whispered under his breath to Crossbin.
With the departure of the last guest--one or two of them were a
little unsteady; not Mason, we may be sure--Jack, who had come
home and was waiting upstairs in his room for the feast to be
over, squared his shoulders, threw up his chin and, like many
another crusader bent on straightening the affairs of the world,
started out to confront his uncle. His visor was down, his lance
in rest, his banner unfurled, the scarf of the blessed damosel
tied in double bow-knot around his trusty right arm. Both knight
and maid were unconscious of the scarf, and yet if the truth be
told it was Ruth's eyes that had swung him into battle. Now he was
ready to fight; to renounce the comforts of life and live on a
crust rather than be party to the crimes that were being daily
committed under his very eyes!
His uncle was in the library, having just bowed out his last
guest, when the boy strode in.
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