lords. His host in his prime had been recalled from foreign service
to unexpectedly succeed to an uncle's title and estate. That estate,
however, had come into the possession of the uncle only through his
marriage with the daughter of an old family whose portraits still looked
down from the walls upon the youngest and alien branch. There were
likenesses, effigies, memorials, and reminiscences of still older
families who had occupied it through forfeiture by war or the favoritism
of kings, and in its stately cloisters and ruined chapel was still felt
the dead hand of its evicted religious founders, which could not be
shaken off.
It was this strange individuality that affected all who saw it. For,
however changed were those within its walls, whoever were its inheritors
or inhabiters, Scrooby Priory never changed nor altered its own
character. However incongruous or ill-assorted the portraits that looked
from its walls,--so ill met that they might have flown at one another's
throats in the long nights when the family were away,--the great
house itself was independent of them all. The be-wigged, be-laced, and
be-furbelowed of one day's gathering, the round-headed, steel-fronted,
and prim-kerchiefed congregation of another day, and even the
black-coated, bare-armed, and bare-shouldered assemblage of to-day had
no effect on the austerities of the Priory. Modern houses might show
the tastes and prepossessions of their dwellers, might have caught some
passing trick of the hour, or have recorded the augmented fortunes or
luxuriousness of the owner, but Scrooby Priory never! No one had dared
even to disturb its outer rigid integrity; the breaches of time and
siege were left untouched. It held its calm indifferent sway over all
who passed its low-arched portals, and the consul was fain to believe
that he--a foreign visitor--was no more alien to the house than its
present owner.
"I'm expecting a very charming compatriot of yours to-morrow," said Lord
Beverdale as they drove from the station together. "You must tell me
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