Geoffrey, the second baron, survived the Wars of the Roses, but left the barony considerably impoverished by his vacillations. His heir, Henry, took to wife Margaret, heiress of Malvallet, by which wise alliance the two families were made one. His successors all laid schemes for the family's advancement, but the times were troublous, and it was not always possible to steer a safe course through the varying politics of the day. Thus in this year, 1586, although the house of Beauvallet had by dint of careful marriages planted its roots in many great houses, and become one of the wealthiest in the land, the present holder of the title was still only a baron, as his ancestor had been before him. This Seventh Baron, Gerard, a solid man, had built the new house at Alreston, a noble mansion of red brick, with oak timberings. My lady, a frail dame, complained of the cruel temper of the climate in Cambridgeshire, and was urgent in her gentle way, to be gone from an ancient castle full of draughts and damp and gloomy corners. My lord, inheriting much of his great ancestor's rugged nature, had a fondness for this mediæval hold, and saw in the use of oak for house-building a sign of the decadence of the age. He was, so they said, a hard man, with a will of iron, but there was a joint in his armour. My lady had her way, and there arose in milder Hampshire, on lands that had come as part of the dowry of Gerard's grandmother, a stately Tudor mansion, set in fair gardens, surrounded by its stables, its farmsteads, and its rolling acres of pasturage. It was seen that my lord for all his hardy notions had pride in the magnificence of the building. He might speak slightingly of an age of luxury, but he adorned his house with every trapping of wealth, used the despised oak for his panelling, and had all carved and painted to the admiration of his neighbours. Thither rode Nicholas, on a bright spring day, and came in sight of the square gatehouse, after an absence of over a year. The gates stood wide, and showed a broad avenue stretching ahead, with rolling lawns to flank it, and the high gables of the manor beyond. Sir Nicholas reined in, and sent a shout echoing through the archway. The gate-keeper came out, no sooner saw who called than he hurried forward, beaming a welcome. "Eh, but it could be none other! Master Nick!" Beauvallet stretched down a hand in careless good nature. "Well, old Samson? How does my brother?" "Well, master, well, and my lady too," Samson told him, and bent the knee to kiss his hand. "Are you come home for aye at last, sir? The place misses you!" There was a shrug of the shoulder and a shake of the head. "Nay, nay, the place needs but my brother." "A just lord," Samson agreed. "But there is never a man on Beauvallet land would not be glad to welcome Sir Nicholas home." "Oh, flatterer!" Beauvallet mocked. "What have I ever done for the land?" "It is not that, master." Samson shook his head, and would have said more.