"It was because of the tale, Miss Hester. Hush, dear, and I will tell you," said Alice. "His name was Mr. Edgar, and he was the Squire's only brother, as I said--and for long they were loving friends--the one was great at court and the other a great scholar, and Cottiswoode was a grander estate, and a grander Hall there than it is now. But Mr. Edgar chanced to see a young lady nigh and fell in love with her, Miss Hester--and the Squire came down on a visit, and he fell in love with her too--and strife came between the brothers, as it comes between many a generation of the name since--and the lady chose the Squire and cast off Mr. Edgar, and there was sad work in the house. But the end was that Mr. Edgar left all his books, and went away to foreign parts--to foreign parts--to the wars--and though his brother and the lady wanted to make friends, he would not, but held his left hand to them, and said he would leave their children an inheritance. Well, as the story goes, Miss Hester, no one thought more of that, except to be sorry for the poor gentleman, and the Squire and the lady settled down at Cottiswoode, and had two beautiful boys, and were as happy as a summer-day; but when ten years were gone, an old man from over the sea brought a letter to the Squire--and what was this but Mr. Edgar's ring, and a prophecy about the house and the name of Southcote--the ring was always to go to the second son, and it was to be called the Star of Misfortune; and trouble was never to depart from the race till it was lost." "But you said it would not be lost," I said, eagerly.