woodeny horses, that must, according to any rule of proportion, have been about half as large as the gateway towers.  Evidently, also, it was of an older date than the present house, which is Jacobean, having probably been removed to its present position from the ruins of the Castle.  Such as it was, however, it gave a very good idea of what the ancient seat of the Boisseys and de la Molles had been like before the Roundheads had made an end of its glory.  The dining-room itself was commodious, though not large.  It was lighted by three narrow windows which looked out upon the moat, and bore a considerable air of solid comfort.  The table, made of black oak, of extraordinary solidity and weight, was matched by a sideboard of the same material and apparently of the same date, both pieces of furniture being, as Mr. de la Molle informed his guests, relics of the Castle.

On this sideboard were placed several pieces of old and massive plate, each of which was rudely engraved with three falcons or, the arms of the de la Molle family.  One piece, indeed, a very ancient salver, bore those of the Boisseys—­a ragged oak, in an escutcheon of pretence—­ showing thereby that it dated from that de la Molle who in the time of Henry the Seventh had obtained the property by marriage with the Boissey heiress.

Conversation having turned that way, as the dinner, which was a simple one, went on, the old Squire had this piece of plate brought to Harold Quaritch for him to examine.

“It is very curious,” he said; “have you much of this, Mr. de la Molle?”

“No indeed,” he said; “I wish I had.  It all vanished in the time of Charles the First.”

“Melted down, I suppose,” said the Colonel.

“No, that is the odd part of it.  I don’t think it was.  It was hidden somewhere—­I don’t know where, or perhaps it was turned into money and the money hidden.  But I will tell you the story if you like as soon as we have done dinner.”

Accordingly, when the servants had removed the cloth, and after the old fashion placed the wine upon the naked wood, the Squire began his tale, of which the following is the substance.

“In the time of James I. the de la Molle family was at the height of its prosperity, that is, so far as money goes.  For several generations previous the representatives of the family had withdrawn themselves from any active participation in public affairs, and living here at small expense upon their lands, which were at that time very large, had amassed a quantity of wealth that, for the age, might fairly be called enormous.  Thus, Sir Stephen de la Molle, the grandfather of the Sir James who lived in the time of James I., left to his son, also named Stephen, a sum of no less than twenty-three thousand pounds in gold.  This Stephen was a great miser, and tradition says that he trebled the sum in his lifetime.  Anyhow, he died rich as Croesus, and abominated alike by his tenants and by the country side, as might be expected when a gentleman of his race and fame degraded himself, as this Sir Stephen undoubtedly did, to the practice of usury.