‘Likely enough,’ he retorted dryly, and proceeding, read the description of the half-basket hilt, inlaid with gold, and the broad blade, channeled near the hilt, and inlaid with ornaments and initials in gold. ‘There is nothing in all that about the scabbard,’ said his father. ‘Stop till we come to the history,’ he replied, and read on, as nearly as I can recall, to the following effect. I have never had an opportunity of copying the words themselves. ‘“This sword seems to have been expressly forged for Sir [----] [----],”’ (He read it _Sir So and So_.) ‘“whose initials are to be found on the blade. According to tradition, it was worn by him, for the first and only time, at the battle of Naseby, where he fought in the cavalry led by Sir Marmaduke Langdale. From some accident or other, Sir [----] [----] found, just as the order to charge was given, that he could not draw his sword, and had to charge with only a pistol in his hand. In the flight which followed he pulled up, and unbuckled his sword, but while attempting to ease it, a rush of the enemy startled him, and, looking about, he saw a Roundhead riding straight at Sir Marmaduke, who that moment passed in the rear of his retiring troops--giving some directions to an officer by his side, and unaware of the nearness of danger. Sir [----] [----] put spurs to his charger, rode at the trooper, and dealt him a downright blow on the pot-helmet with his sheathed weapon. The fellow tumbled from his horse, and Sir [----] [----] found his scabbard split halfway up, but the edge of his weapon unturned. It is said he vowed it should remain sheathed for ever.”--The person who has now unsheathed it has done a great wrong to the memory of a loyal cavalier.’ ‘The sheath halfway split was as familiar to my eyes as the face of my uncle,’ I said, turning to Sir Giles. ‘And in the only reference I ever heard my great-grandmother make to it, she mentioned the name of Sir Marmaduke. I recollect that much perfectly.’ ‘But how could the sword be there and here at one and the same time?’ said Sir Giles. ‘_That_ I do not pretend to explain,’ I said. ‘Here at least is written testimony to our possession of it,’ said Brotherton in a conclusive tone. ‘How, then, are we to explain Mr Cumbermede’s story?’ said Sir Giles, evidently in good faith. ‘With that I cannot consent to allow myself concerned.--Mr Cumbermede is, I am told, a writer of fiction.’ ‘Geoffrey,’ said Sir Giles, ‘behave yourself like a gentleman.’ ‘I endeavour to do so,’ he returned with a sneer. I kept silence. ‘How can you suppose,’ the old man went on, ‘that Mr Cumbermede would invent such a story? What object could he have?’ ‘He may have a mania for weapons, like old Close--as well as for old books,’ he replied.