“You were never treated cruelly,” he said.  “No one would ever dare to speak so to you that you would sob and swoon.  If any dared!” and his little hand involuntarily went to his side with a fierce childish gesture which made my lord Duke laugh delightedly.

“’Tis in his blood to draw,” he said.  “Bravo!  Roxholm; bravo!”

His mother looked at his beautiful little face and, seeing a thing in his eyes which women who are mothers detect in the eyes of their offspring when others observe little, put a hand on each of his shoulders and went upon one knee so that she could be on a level with his face and see deeper.

“What,” she said, with a tender comprehending warmth, “you have been hearing of some poor lady who is hardly treated, and you cannot endure to think of it, because you are a man even though you are but seven years old;” and she bent forward and kissed him with a lovely passion and her violet eyes bedewed.  “Yes, love,” she said, “you are a Man.  All Osmondes are when they are born, I think.  Indeed, John”—­with the sweetest laughing look at her lord, who stood worshipping her from his place at the opposite side of the hearth—­“I am sure that when you were seven years old, if you had had a little sword, you would have drawn it to defend a woman against a giant, though he had been big enough to have eaten you at one mouthful—­and Gerald is like you,” proudly.  “Gerald is a Man, too.”

“’Tis not fair,” cried little Roxholm, passionately, “’tis not fair that a big gentleman should be so harsh to a poor lady who loves him, that he should make her cry till the blue goes from her eyes and she is beautiful no longer, and that he should hate her infants because they are not boys.  And when she tried to please him he made her sob and swoon away.  He should be killed for it—­he should be killed.”

His father and mother glanced at each other.  “Surely,” her Grace said, “he must have heard of the wicked Gloucestershire baronet my Lord Dunstanwolde told us stories of—­Sir Jeoffry.”

“Ay, his name was Sir Jeoffry,” cried Roxholm, eagerly.  “Sir Jeoffry it was they said.”

“Yes,” said my lord Duke, “Sir Jeoffry Wildairs, and a rank, heartless brute he is to be the father of helpless girl children.”

CHAPTER IV

“God Have Mercy on its Evil Fortunes”

In the constantly changing panorama which passes before the mind of a child, it is certain no picture dawns and fades without leaving some trace behind.  The exact images may not be recorded, but the effect produced by their passing will remain and become part of the palimpsest of life and character.  The panorama which passed before the mental vision of the boy Marquess during the years of his early youth was not only brilliant but full of great changes, being indeed such a panorama as could not fail to produce strong and formative impressions upon a growing mind.  The doings of Charles Stuart’s dissolute