She swung round and showed a menacing face. ‘You have refused what I had set my heart on!’ Her voice softened: ‘’Tis for the love I bear you, Alston. I want to help you; remember that I am your mother’s sister. Don’t refuse me.’ ‘Aunt,’ he said painfully, ‘it may not be. I cannot sin against my son.’ She came still nearer. ‘Well, so be it,’ she muttered in his ear. ‘Others will suffer for your obstinacy. I know what my project meant; but you, with your blind gropings after light, will never see. Nay; you come no further into my house; this is no place for you!’ The door was closed violently, and my father passed along the dark avenues to the village. He was with me in two days; but, although I pressed him often (being curious to hear all about Furnivaux, which I had never seen), he refused to disclose either the cause or the result of his visit. Before two years had passed, however, I found myself, by a curious trick of fortune, in the vicinity of Furnivaux Castle. I had suffered from an acute attack of brain fever, and when convalescent had been ordered by the doctor to taste the air of Marlbrok-over-Sands, a quaint watering-place at the mouth of the Lamber estuary. My father was engaged at the time in preparing for the press his volume of _Philosophical Discussions_, and, although he would willingly have accompanied me, I chose rather to take Jeffreys, a man who had been his valet in former times, but who held now the posts of confidant, secretary and checker of the domestic accounts--a faithful old servant of a type unknown to the present generation. At first my father was averse to my visiting Marlbrok. He had suggested Nice or Mentone, fancying that the bustle of foreign life would act as a tonic; but as he heard of the marvellous strengthening virtues which, according to Doctor Pulteney, belonged to the Lamber water, he consented, and after strictly enjoining me not to go within at least a mile of Furnivaux, travelled with me, and left me with Jeffreys at an ancient inn. On the fourth evening of my stay I strolled with Jeffreys to a large hill whose seaward side is perfectly precipitous, but which is easily climbed landward by a winding sheep-path. When I had reached the summit I threw myself on the grass and rested for a while, gazing at the misty outline of Man; then when my dimmed eyes had cleared I turned and saw high on the side of a far-distant inland hill an enormous building, which at first sight appeared on fire, for the westering sun struck full on the great square windows. A grove of majestic trees gloomed to the left, and a park besprinkled with herds of deer sloped downward to the furthermost recess of the estuary. A shepherd was training a dog near the place where I sat: regardless of Jeffrey’s deprecations, I called to him, and inquired the name of the house. ‘Furnivaux Castle, young sir. Lady Barbara Verelst’s place,’ he replied. ‘What?’ I cried. ‘Tell me all about it. Have you ever been there? What is it like?’