n themselves. The castle
was still kept in perfect repair, for the battle of Bosworth was not
quite beyond the memory of living men's fathers; and besides, who could
tell whether any day England might not have to be contested inch by
inch with the Spaniard? So the gray walls stood on the tongue of land
in the valley, formed by the junction of the rivers Sheaf and Dun, with
towers at all the gateways, enclosing a space of no less than eight
acres, and with the actual fortress, crisp, strong, hard, and
unmouldered in the midst, its tallest square tower serving as a
look-out place for those who watched to give the first intimation of
the arrival.

The castle had its population, but chiefly of grooms, warders, and
their families. The state-rooms high up in that square tower were so
exceedingly confined, so stern and grim, that the grandfather of the
present earl had built a manor-house for his family residence on the
sloping ground on the farther side of the Dun.

This house, built of stone, timber, and brick, with two large courts,
two gardens, and three yards, covered nearly as much space as the
castle itself. A pleasant, smooth, grass lawn lay in front, and on it
converged the avenues of oaks and walnuts, stretching towards the gates
of the park, narrowing to the eye into single lines, then going
absolutely out of sight, and the sea of foliage presenting the utmost
variety of beautiful tints of orange, yellow, brown, and red. There
was a great gateway between two new octagon towers of red brick, with
battlements and dressings of stone, and from this porch a staircase led
upwards to the great stone-paved hall, with a huge fire burning on the
open hearth. Around it had gathered the ladies of the Talbot family
waiting for the reception. The warder on the tower had blown his horn
as a signal that the master and his royal guest were within the park,
and the banner of the Talbots had been raised to announce their coming,
but nearly half an hour must pass while the party came along the avenue
from the drawbridge over the Sheaf ere they could arrive at the lodge.

So the ladies, in full state dresses, hovered over the fire, while the
children played in the window seat near at hand.

Gilbert Talbot's wife, a thin, yellow-haired, young creature, promising
to be like her mother, the Countess, had a tongue which loved to run,
and with the precocity and importance of wifehood at sixteen, she
dilated to her companions on he