as though Ancient Britons, or any one else for that matter, could live in a kind of drainhole.  But they got on the soft side of your old aunt—­ who, by the way, begging your pardon, was a wonderfully obstinate old lady when once she hammered an idea into her head—­and so she set to work and built this slate mushroom over the place, and one way and another it cost her two hundred and fifty pounds.  Dear me!  I shall never forget her face when she saw the bill,” and the old gentleman burst out into a Titanic laugh, such as Harold Quaritch had not heard for many a long day.

“Yes,” he answered, “it is a queer spot.  I think that I must have a dig at it one day.”

“By Jove,” said the Squire, “I never thought of that.  It would be worth doing.  Hulloa, it is twenty minutes past seven, and we dine at half past.  I shall catch it from Ida.  Come on, Colonel Quaritch; you don’t know what it is to have a daughter—­a daughter when one is late for dinner is a serious thing for any man,” and he started off down the hill in a hurry.

Very soon, however, he seemed to forget the terrors in store, and strolled along, stopping now and again to admire some particular oak or view; chatting all the while in a discursive manner, which, though somewhat aimless, was by no means without its charm.  He made a capital companion for a silent man like Harold Quaritch who liked to hear other people talk.

In this way they went down the slope, and crossing a couple of wheat fields came to a succession of broad meadows, somewhat sparsely timbered.  Through these the footpath ran right up to the grim gateway of the ancient Castle, which now loomed before them, outlined in red lines of fire against the ruddy background of the sunset sky.

“Ay, it’s a fine old place, Colonel, isn’t it?” said the Squire, catching the exclamation of admiration that broke from his companion’s lips, as a sudden turn brought them into line with the Norman ruin.  “History—­that’s what it is; history in stone and mortar; this is historic ground, every inch of it.  Those old de la Molles, my ancestors, and the Boisseys before them, were great folk in their day, and they kept up their position well.  I will take you to see their tombs in the church yonder on Sunday.  I always hoped to be buried beside them, but I can’t manage it now, because of the Act.  However, I mean to get as near to them as I can.  I have a fancy for the companionship of those old Barons, though I expect that they were a roughish lot in their lifetimes.  Look how squarely those towers stand out against the sky.  They always remind me of the men who built them—­ sturdy, overbearing fellows, setting their shoulders against the sea of circumstance and caring neither for man nor devil till the priests got hold of them at the last.  Well, God rest them, they helped to make England, whatever their faults.  Queer place to choose for a castle, though, wasn’t it? right out in an open plain.”