APTER XI.

THE MYSTERIES OF FERNLEY

"Now, Uncle John!"

"Now, Margaret!"

"Don't be tormenting, sir! You know that you promised us a new Mystery
of Fernley, if we would all be good. We have been good; virtue shines
from every one of us, doesn't it, Hugh?"

"My eyes are dazzled," replied her cousin. "Most of it seems to come
from the feminine side of the house, though, I fear. All that the boys
and I have done has been to abstain from actual crime."

"Oh, cherries!" said Phil.

"Up into the tree of cherry,
Who should climb but little Jerry?"

"Pooh! pooh!" said Mr. Montfort. "What are cherries for except to eat, I
should like to know? Yes, you have all been good children, and it is
true that I promised--something. Sit down now, all of you, and I will
tell you the story of the Lost Casket."

The young people clustered about him, sitting on the floor, on cushions
and footstools, on anything rather than the prosaic seat of an ordinary
chair. Mr. Montfort looked around on their bright, eager faces. Margaret
sat next him, his own Margaret, fair and sweet in her white dress, with
the bright, joyous look that had grown so habitual to her of late. Next
to her was Gerald Merryweather; it struck Mr. Montfort suddenly that
Gerald Merryweather usually was beside Margaret. Beyond them again,
Peggy and Jean, with Phil between them; Phil, who as yet preferred his
sister Gertrude's society to that of any girl he had ever seen. At the
other side of the ring, Grace Wolfe, sitting a little apart, with the
curious air of solitariness that seemed to surround her even in company.
Hugh Montfort was not far off, though, and his deep brown eyes were
gazing at her intently.

"Once upon a time," Mr. Montfort began, and was greeted with a chorus of
disappointment. "Oh, Uncle John! You said it was true."

"Not a fairy story this time, sir, please; give us the real thing!"

"Will you be quiet, you impetuous creatures?" asked Uncle John. "It is
true, so far as I know. And if you interrupt me again--"

"We will not!"

"Hear us swear!" cried the young people.

"Once upon a time, then, some hundred and fifty years ago, there lived
here at Fernley Mr. Peter Montfort, the great-great-grandfather of some
of you. He was a worthy gentleman, with a pretty taste for engravings;
that Raphael Morghen print of the Transfiguration, Margaret, that you
are so fond of, is from his collection. He travelled about Europe a good
dea