The Patrician | Page 4

hall--one of the finest in England--the Caradoc family
had for centuries assembled the trophies and records of their existence.
Round about this dining hall they had built and pulled down and
restored, until the rest of Monkland Court presented some aspect of

homogeneity. Here alone they had left virgin the work of the old
quasi-monastic builders, and within it unconsciously deposited their
souls. For there were here, meeting the eyes of light, all those rather
touching evidences of man's desire to persist for ever, those shells of
his former bodies, the fetishes and queer proofs of his faiths, together
with the remorseless demonstration of their treatment at the hands of
Time.
The annalist might here have found all his needed confirmations; the
analyst from this material formed the due equation of high birth; the
philosopher traced the course of aristocracy, from its primeval rise in
crude strength or subtlety, through centuries of power, to picturesque
decadence, and the beginnings of its last stand. Even the artist might
here, perchance, have seized on the dry ineffable pervading spirit, as
one visiting an old cathedral seems to scent out the constriction of its
heart.
From the legendary sword of that Welsh chieftain who by an act of
high, rewarded treachery had passed into the favour of the conquering
William, and received, with the widow of a Norman, many lands in
Devonshire, to the Cup purchased for Geoffrey Caradoc; present Earl
of Valleys, by subscription of his Devonshire tenants on the occasion of
his marriage with the Lady Gertrude Semmering--no insignia were
absent, save the family portraits in the gallery of Valleys House in
London. There was even an ancient duplicate of that yellow tattered
scroll royally, reconfirming lands and title to John, the most
distinguished of all the Caradocs, who had unfortunately neglected to
be born in wedlock, by one of those humorous omissions to be found in
the genealogies of most old families. Yes, it was there, almost cynically
hung in a corner; for this incident, though no doubt a burning question
in the fifteenth century, was now but staple for an ironical little tale, in
view of the fact that descendants of John's 'own' brother Edmund were
undoubtedly to be found among the cottagers of a parish not far distant.
Light, glancing from the suits of armour to the tiger skins beneath them,
brought from India but a year ago by Bertie Caradoc, the younger son,
seemed recording, how those, who had once been foremost by virtue of

that simple law of Nature which crowns the adventuring and strong,
now being almost washed aside out of the main stream of national life,
were compelled to devise adventure, lest they should lose belief in their
own strength.
The unsparing light of that first half-hour of summer morning recorded
many other changes, wandering from austere tapestries to the velvety
carpets, and dragging from the contrast sure proof of a common sense
which denied to the present Earl and Countess the asceticisms of the
past. And then it seemed to lose interest in this critical journey, as
though longing to clothe all in witchery. For the sun had risen, and
through the Eastern windows came pouring its level and mysterious joy.
And with it, passing in at an open lattice, came a wild bee to settle
among the flowers on the table athwart the Eastern end, used when
there was only a small party in the house. The hours fled on silent, till
the sun was high, and the first visitors came--three maids, rosy, not
silent, bringing brushes. They passed, and were followed by two
footmen--scouts of the breakfast brigade, who stood for a moment
professionally doing nothing, then soberly commenced to set the table.
Then came a little girl of six, to see if there were anything
exciting--little Ann Shropton, child of Sir William Shropton by his
marriage with Lady Agatha, and eldest daughter of the house, the only
one of the four young Caradocs as yet wedded. She came on tiptoe,
thinking to surprise whatever was there. She had a broad little face, and
wide frank hazel eyes over a little nose that came out straight and
sudden. Encircled by a loose belt placed far below the waist of her
holland frock, as if to symbolize freedom, she seemed to think
everything in life good fun. And soon she found the exciting thing.
"Here's a bumble bee, William. Do you think I could tame it in my little
glass bog?"
"No, I don't, Miss Ann; and look out, you'll be stung!"
"It wouldn't sting me."
"Why not?"

"Because it wouldn't."
"Of course--if you say so----"
"What time is the motor ordered?"
"Nine o'clock."
"I'm going with Grandpapa as far as the gate."
"Suppose he says you're not?"
"Well, then I shall go all the