CHAPTER I

TIME was when Castlerayne estates marched for miles along the Yorkshire coast. Not so long ago the Castleraynes were people of importance; indeed, the head of the House could claim that distinction now. On second thoughts, he did not so much make the claim as look upon it as a natural and indisputable right. As a matter of fact, the vast estates had been thrown into the crucible of change; they had gone as lands and fields will do under the sway of three generations of spendthrifts. The ‘First Gentleman in Europe’ had been a friend of the present owner’s grandfather, and, after that, little explanation of the family fallen fortunes is needed.

The old castle to-day is a mass of ivy-clad, picturesque ruins, standing high on the seaboard and commanding inland one of the most exquisite prospects in the North. So far as the passer-by can judge, the grounds about the ruins are beautifully kept, whereat the would-be picnicker wonders and envies, for none of his class are ever admitted within the sacred precincts of what had once been a great feudal castle.

If you are bold enough to explore the rugged walls, or fortunate enough to get beyond the sunken dike where the moat used to run, you will be equally surprised. You will cross a brown trout-stream filled with great gold-and-white lily pads; you will see a quiet stretch of velvet lawn, with the grim ivy-clad walls of the fortress for a background. Behind the ruins is a sloping hill covered to the summit with larches and birches and rowans–a marvellous setting to the picture. And then you will note why the ruins are so carefully guarded; for, nestling amongst them, built from their very stones, and knit into their very frame, is a marvellously beautiful and picturesque house covered with creepers to the roof-ties. The house has every appearance of great antiquity; it has latticed panes in the mullioned windows, the upper halves of which are stained glass. There is something very romantic and charming in this refined house, protected by the frowning fortress beyond; something very cooling in the brown stream where the lily pads flourish. Then, if you are discreet, you will make a bolt of it, being perfectly satisfied why the general public are excluded so rigidly from Castlerayne Towers.

As to the house itself, it is pure Elizabethan, though as a matter of fact it is not more than a century old. All the same, it was built–stone and timber–from the remains of the older keep; every bit of panelling, every carved ceiling and cornice, had come from the parent pl