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. There are times when you make me feel a little thing at your feet—a young, silly, protected thing. “You have killed me. Make up your mind as to the terms, and I'll engage to find the man. “Yet it is my last evening, and I think —if you are sure that you would like to have me—that I will risk it. ’ ‘Gosse,’ corrected Lucilla. ‘I disgust you, eh? Very well, then. His mother smiled in return, an act that brightened her thin face.
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