He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. 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. "Do you compare your love—a love which all may purchase—with hers? No one has ever loved me. “I can’t conceive what you want. In any case, he is liable to discover it at any time. ” She wondered how much history she could reinvent before losing track of her own lies.
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