the mere fact of her suggesting such an outing proved that the spring had called her, and that she was ready to go out and worship at Nature’s shrine.  Do not imagine for a moment that Miss Beach, whatever her feelings, allowed any romantic element to appear on the surface.  She fussed over the car, measured the amount of petrol left in the tank, debated whether she had better go to the garage for an extra can in case of emergencies, called out the cook to dust the seat, sent the housemaid flying to the attic for an air-cushion, inspected the lunch basket, gave half-a-dozen directions for things to be done in her absence, wrote last messages on a slate for people who might possibly call on business, scolded Winona for putting on her thin coat, and sent her to fetch her thick one and a rug for her knees, and finally, after a very breathless ten minutes got under way, and started forth.  They drove slowly through the town traffic, but soon they had left streets behind, and were spinning along the high road in the direction of Wickborough.

Long as she had lived at Seaton, Miss Beach had never seen Wickborough Castle, and to-day she was determined to pay it a visit.  It was a very ancient place, built originally by King Canute, in the days when red war was waged between Saxon and Norseman.  Little of the old Danish tower remained, but successive generations had erected keep and turret, bastion and guard house, crumbling now indeed into ruins, but picturesque in their decay, and full of historical associations.  Here proud Queen Margaret, hard pressed by her enemies, had found a timely shelter for herself and her little son, till an escort could convey her to a spot of greater safety; here Richard II. had pursued sweet unwilling Anne of Warwick, and forced her to accept his hated suit; Princess Mary had passed a part of her unhappy childhood within its walls, and Anne Boleyn’s merry laugh had rung out there.  The situation of the Castle was magnificent.  It stood on the summit of a wooded cliff which ran sheer into the river, and commanded a splendid prospect of the country round, and a bird’s-eye view of the little town that clustered at the foot of the crag.

“It’s like an eagle’s nest!” commented Winona, as leaving the car at the bottom of the hill they climbed on foot up the zigzag pathway to the keep.  “It must have been a regular robber-baron’s stronghold in the Middle Ages!”

Miss Beach had bought a guide-book, and rejecting the services of a persistent little girl who was anxious to point out the various spots of interest, with an eye to a tip, they strolled about, trying to reconstruct a fancy portrait of the place for themselves.  Canute’s tower was still left, a squat solid piece of masonry, with enormously thick walls and tiny lancet windows.  It was rather dark, but as it was the only portion remaining intact, it was used as a museum, and various curiosities were preserved there.  The great fire-place held a spit for roasting