Lady Wantley, keeping up full state at the Hall, was still, as she had long been, their real overlord and Providence, and the young man had felt that it was to her that should have been addressed the heavy expressions of good will to which he had had to listen, and then to make a suitable reply. But now, on Christmas Eve, more than a year after the death of Sir George Downing, as Wantley drove in the winter sunshine along lanes cut through land which after all belonged to him, and which must in time belong to those, yet unborn, whom he left after him, he felt something of the pride of possession stir within him, and he bethought himself that he was a link in a long human chain of worthy Wantleys, past and to come. Sitting silent by his young wife's side, he felt well pleased with life, awed into thankfulness at the thought of how much better things had turned out with him than he had ever thought possible. Then a whimsical notion presented itself to his mind: 'Why are you smiling? Do tell me!' Cecily turned to him, rubbed her soft cheek against the pointed beard she had once--it seemed so long ago--despised as the appanage of age. To her to-day was a great day, one to be remembered very tenderly the whole of her life through. She had read everything that could be read about this place, and, indeed, she knew far more of the history of the house to which they were going than did Wantley himself. Here also, in the substantial ivy-draped rectory, which her husband had pointed out as they had driven quickly through the village, he had been born, and spent his childhood. Oh yes, this was indeed to Cecily a day of days, and she felt pleased and moved to think that their first Christmas together should be spent at Marston Lydiate. 'Why was I smiling? Well, when I was a child, my nurse used to say to me, "If 'ifs' were horses, beggars would ride!" and I was thinking just then that _if_ we have a son, and _if_ our son marries an American heiress, and _if_ he and she care to do so, they will be able to come and live here, a thing you and I, my darling, can never do!' The brougham swung in through the lodge gates, each flanked by a curious and, Cecily feared, a most uncomfortable little house, suggestive of a miniature Greek temple; and a turn in the wide park road, lined with snow-laden evergreen bushes, brought suddenly into view the great plateau along which stretched the long regular frontage of the huge mansion for which they were bound. The size of the building amazed and rather excited her. 'It must be an immense place,' she said. 'I had no idea that it was like this!' 'Yes, the young lady will require to have a great many dollars--eh, my dear?' 'You never told me it was such a--a----'