For several generations there had been symptoms of decay about the Rockville family. Not in its property; that was as large as ever. Not in their personal stature and physical aspect. The Rockvilles continued, as they always had been, a tall and not bad-looking family. But they grew gradually less prolific. For a hundred and fifty years past, there had seldom been more than two, or at most, three children. There had generally been an heir to the estate, and another to the family pulpit, and sometimes a daughter, married to some neighbouring squire. But Sir Roger’s father had been an only child, and Sir Roger himself was an only child. The danger of extinction to the family, apparent as it was, had never induced Sir Roger to marry. At the time that we are turning our attention upon him, he had reached the mature age of sixty. Nobody believed that Sir Roger now would marry; he was the last, and likely to be, of his line. It is worth while here to take a glance at Sir Roger and his estate. They exhibited a strange contrast. The one bore all the signs of progress, the other of a stereotyped feudality. The estate, which in the days of the first Sir Roger de Rockville had been half morass and three-quarters wilderness, was now cultivated to the pitch of British agricultural science. The marsh lands beyond the river were one splendid expanse of richest meadows, yielding a rental of four solid pounds per acre. Over hill and dale on this side for miles, where formerly ran wild deer, and grew wild woodlands or furze-bushes, now lay excellent farms and hamlets, and along the ridge of the ancient cliffs rose the most magnificent woods. Woods, too, clothed the steep hill-sides, and swept down to the noble river, their very boughs hanging far out over its clear and rapid waters. In the midst of these fine woods stood Rockville Hall, the family seat of the Rockvilles. It reared its old brick walls over the towering mass of elms, and travellers at a distance recognised it for what it was—the mansion of an ancient and wealthy family. The progress of England in arts, science, commerce, and manufactures, had carried Sir Roger’s estate along with it. It was full of active and moneyed farmers, and flourished under modern influences. How lucky it would have been for the Rockville family had it done the same! But amid this estate, there was Sir Roger, solitary, and the last of the line. He had grown well enough—there was nothing stunted about him, as far as you could see on the surface. In stature he exceeded six feet. His colossal elms could not boast of a more proper relative growth. He was as large a landlord and as tall a justice of the peace as you could desire; but, unfortunately, after all, he was only the shell of a man. Like many of his veteran elms, there was a very fine stem, only it was hollow. There was a man just with the rather awkward deficiency of a soul.