My readers must cross with me the drawbridge, swinging, on its hoarsely sounding chains, over the deep moat that surrounded the castle, and passing the frowning gateway, under the old portcullis, along the winding passage, with loopholes pierced on either side, we enter the ample courtyard paved with stone. In its centre stood an ancient sun-dial. Opposite us is the doorway, and as our story leads us to the inmates of this hold we will continue our journey up the broad flight of stairs, and, sounding the bell which, in conformity with ancient usage, was still hung there, wait till the massive oaken door with its clamps of brass is opened, and discloses the entrance hall, a small square room full of ancient armour, intermingled with trophies of the chase. Above the door are crossed two pennons, which had been wrung from the Moslems in the days of the Crusades. All round spears, battle-axes, and lances of the olden time, with whole suits of chain and steel armour, hung side by side with more modern implements of war, guns--swords, pistols, and bayonets, that had fought well in battle fierce. Stags' antlers, boars' tusks, and grinning heads of wolves and foxes peeped forth here and there; and, instead of mats, tigers' and bears' skins were stretched on the polished oak floor. All of these were bequeathed by the ancestors of the present family, or collected by themselves. Strange scenes had been here enacted, if tales told the truth. In the centre of the room was a dark stain on the oaken planks--the stain of blood--a stain blood only can wipe away. Opening next a door of carved oak, we find ourselves in the great hall. It is upwards of ninety feet in length, and about the middle on either side is an ancient fireplace, so large that a family might occupy either, seated round the log fire on the stone seats. Above each hung a fine picture. One was of a beautiful young woman in the dress of an abbess, wandering with naked feet through dense woods--this was Augusta de Vere. Opposite, was the portrait of the stern Sir Ralph. From these two pictures an endless line of family portraits was continued to the end of the hall either way. There were many winning faces, none more so than the two last, pictures of the Ladies Edith and Florence. There were many handsome and manly faces, none more so than the three last--pictures of the present lord, and his two brothers. There was a peculiarity in this picture gallery--can any of my readers guess what it was? There was no old face from Sir Ralph downwards. They were all young--all in their early prime--yet all but five were laid low.