Belton Castle was not in truth a castle.  Immediately before the front door, so near to the house as merely to allow of a broad road running between it and the entrance porch, there stood an old tower, which gave its name to the residence an old square tower, up which the Amedroz boys for three generations had been able to climb by means of the ivy and broken stones in one of the inner corners and this tower was a remnant of a real castle that had once protected the village of Belton.  The house itself was an ugly residence, three stories high, built in the time of George II, with low rooms and long passages, and an immense number of doors.  It was a large unattractive house unattractive that is, as regarded its own attributes but made interesting by the beauty of the small park in which it stood.  Belton Park did not, perhaps, contain much above a hundred acres, but the land was so broken into knolls and valleys, in so many places was the rock seen to be cropping up through the verdure, there were in it so many stunted old oaks, so many points of vantage for the lover of scenery, that no one would believe it to be other than a considerable domain.  The farmer who took it, and who would not under any circumstances undertake to pay more than seventeen shillings an acre for it, could not be made to think that it was in any way considerable.  But Belton Park, since first it was made a park, had never before been regarded in this fashion.  Farmer Stovey, of the Grange, was the first man of that class who had ever assumed the right to pasture his sheep in Belton chase as the people around were still accustomed to call the woodlands of the estate.

It was full summer at Belton, and four months had now passed since the dreadful tidings had reached the castle.  It was full summer, and the people of the village were again going about their ordinary business; and the shop-girls with their lovers from Redicote were again to be seen walking among the oaks in the park on a Sunday evening; and the world in that district of Somersetshire was getting itself back into its grooves.  The fate of the young heir had disturbed the grooves greatly, and had taught many in those parts to feel that the world was coming to an end.  They had not loved young Amedroz, for he had been haughty when among them, and there had been wrongs committed by the dissolute young squire, and grief had come from his misdoings upon more than one household; but to think that he should have destroyed himself with his own hand!  And then, to think that Miss Clara would become a beggar when the old squire should die!  All the neighbours around understood the whole history of the entail, and knew that the property was to go to Will Belton.  Now Will Belton was not a gentleman!  So, at least, said the Belton folk, who had heard that the heir had been brought up as a farmer somewhere in Norfolk.  Will Belton had once been at the Castle as a boy, now some fifteen years ago, and then there had sprung