Hench was nettled, as he thought that this was unfair. "After all, your father was no angel," he said, also tartly. "Yet look at--you." "If you are going to pay silly compliments, I shall go back," said the girl sharply. "We are here on business, remember." "I didn't pay a compliment--at any rate to your father." "My father was--my father, so there's no use saying anything more. As to my cousin, I'll never set eyes on him, so why talk about him." "If you stay with Mrs. Perage you are certain to see him." "I shan't stay with Mrs. Perage. As soon as my cousin arrives I shall go to live in London and enjoy myself. I have five hundred a year of my own, so I can do as I like." "Why have you remained here so far?" "Because I wish to learn who murdered my father." "But I thought you didn't get on with your father?" "That is no reason why I should allow the beast who murdered him to escape, Mr. Hench," said Gwen quickly. "I wish you wouldn't talk of--but there"--she walked on abruptly--"you don't understand, and I cannot give you plain enough explanations to make you understand. There is our family history to be considered and it is not a pleasant one." Of course, Owain knew the family history just as thoroughly as the girl by his side, but for obvious reasons he could not tell her so. He could recall nothing in the same creditable to the late Squire, and it was impossible to guess why Gwen should so greatly desire to avenge his death. Even though the dead man was her father, he had proved a particularly unkind one, if Mrs. Perage was to be believed. But before they returned to the village, Gwen was compelled, against her will as it were, to tell him the true reason for the search. Then Owain was no longer astonished that she should prosecute the same, and ask for his assistance. The two passed through ornate iron gates swung between two mighty pillars of stone, and walked leisurely up a long avenue, which swept round in a curve to lead into a vast open space girdled by the trees of the park. Here, the young man for the first time came face to face with the mansion he had inherited, and silently expressed his admiration. It was a rambling structure of mellow red brick, the patchwork of many generations, and comprising many styles of architecture. And the very incongruity of the same constituted its chief beauty, as the eye was always finding something new and unexpected. Two storeys in height, it possessed a lofty slanting roof of red tiles, weather-worn and picturesque, with many stacks of twisted chimneys and many mullion windows. The whole was draped in dark green ivy, and seemed to be so ancient that it only appeared to be held together by the same. Windows and door were closed, but Gwen informed her companion that Mrs. Capes, her father's old housekeeper, was in charge. To summon her, she rang the bell as they stood in the porch.