Ravenshoe

ent Majesty, following it down through every change and revolution, both secular and religious; which would have

the Ravenshoes have been engaged in every plot, rebellion, and civil war, from about a century or so before the Conquest to 1745, and that the history of the house was marked by cruelty and rapacity in old times, and in those more modern by political tergiversation of the blackest dye, the

ing out again, which, to one not aware of the cause, was sufficiently inexplicable. Like the Stuarts, they had always taken the losing side, and yet, unlike the Stuarts, have always kept their heads on their shoulders, and their house over their heads. Lady Ascot says that, if Ambrose Ravenshoe had been attainted in 1745, he'd have been hung as sure as fate: there was evidence enough against him to hang a dozen men. I myself, too, have heard Squire Densil declare, with great pride, that the Ravenshoe of King John's time was the only Baron who did not sign Magna Charta; and if there were a Ravenshoe at Runnymede, I have not the slightest doubt that such was the case. Through the Rose wars, again, they were always

ting, dicing, and all that sort of thing, and, what is more, paying his way in a manner which suggests successful burglary as the only solution. Sir Alured, however, as I find, had done no worse than marry an old maid (Miss Hincksey, one of the Staffordshire Hinckseys) with a splendid fortune; which fortune set the family on its legs again for some generations. This Sir Alured seems to have been an audacious rogue. He made great

have consigned him to a rather speedy execution. However, the king seems to have looked on this gentleman with a suspicious eye, and to have been pretty well aware what sort of man he was, for I find him writing to his wife, on the occasion of his going to court-"The King's Grace

ng over him. I have dwelt thus long on him, as he seems to have possessed a fair share of the virtues and vices of his family-a family always generous and br

e accordingly, without hesitation or consultation with any mortal soul, rang the bell for his butler, sent for his stud-groom, mounted every man about the place (twenty or so), armed them, grooms, gardeners, and all, with crossbows and partisans from the armoury, and rode into the cross, at Stonnington, on a market-day, and boldly proclaimed the Pretender king. It soon got about that "the squire" was making a fool of himself, and that there was some fun going; so he shortly found himself surrounded by a large and somewhat dirty rabble, who, with cries of "Well done, old rebel!" and "Hurrah for the Pope!" escorted him, his terror-stricken butler and his shame-stricken grooms, to the Crown

died i

seigneur)

He first took th

his shadowy line that we shall see in the flesh. He was born in the year 1783, and married, first in 1812, at his father's desire, a Miss Winkleigh, of whom I kno

rt, bo

s, bor

daughter of Lord Ascot, a Staunton, as staunchly a Protestant a house as any in England. She, however, managed to fall in love with the handsome young Popish Squire, and to elope with him, changing not only her name, but, to the dismay of h

born, two years after their marri

short time intelligence came to the confessor of the family, and through him to the father and mother, that Densil was seeing the world with a vengeance; that he was the constant companion of the Right Honourable Viscount Saltire, the great dandy of the Radical Atheist set, with whom no man might play picquet and live;

s immortal soul,

te his property,

the devil," s

g back the lost sheep vi et armis. Accordingly, at ten o'clock one night, Densil's lad was as

irs; but he knew also what would happen, sooner or later, to a Ra

n, dressed in the height of fashion, who, judging from the heap of gold beside him, had been winning heavily. The priest trembled and crossed himself-this man was the terrible, handsome, wicked, witty, Atheistic

t greeting, taking warning by the impatient scowl that settled on Densil's handsome face. Not so he. To be defied by a b

himself back in his chair, stretched out his elegant legs, and looked on with the air of a man wh

atory with her knees, praying for her first-born, while he is wasting his substance, a

sweetly, bowed elega

sil, casting an angry glance at the priest, who stood calmly lik

ad seen that scowl once or twice before

westward without you.

d a Ravenshoe!" sai

of mending matters, now

who has been commanded by a priest;

est who has felt the weight of a Ravens

to the ambient air, "I'll back t

est to go (further than purgatory); grew blasphemous, emphatically renouncing the creed of his forefathers, and, in fact, all other creeds. The priest grew hot and furious too, r

ntailed, Ravenshoe,

N

ur deal, my

er acquaintance, and sending him a draft for fifty pounds to pay outstanding bills, which he very well knew amounted to several thousands. In a short time the great Catholic tradesmen, with whom he had been dealing, began to press for money in a somewhat insolent way; an

James Horton by name-for the first time in his life disobeyed orders; for, on being told to return home by Densil, he firmly declined doing s

days), said Lord Saltire. "If I were not Saltire, I think I would be Jim. To own the only clean face

ty room with the barred windows, and thinking what a wild free wind would be sweeping across the Downs t

a low-crowned hat. I am pretty correct, for I have seen his picture, dated 1804. But you must please to remember that his lordship was in the very van of the fashion, and that probably such a dress was not un

the justice to allow that I offered to back the priest five to one. I had been coming to you all the week, but Tuesday and Wednesday I was at Newmarket; Thursday I wa

dly compassionate look in the piercing grey eye belied the cynical curl of

s hand kindly on his

faith of your forefathers. Pardieu, if I had such an

conversation led me to it. Am I worse tha

the only one I ever had. I have been su

ndeed," groan

s, than I had that you would burn down Ravenshoe House because I laughed at it for being old-fashioned. Go home, my poor little Catholic pipkin, and don't try to swim with iro

o late, now!"

course-that you must expect; but you ought to get some very pretty pheasant and cock-shooting. Come, say yes.

could do anythin

m her head, and he saw his mother. In a moment she was crying on his neck; and, as he looked over her sho

and among them all none smiled more brightly than the old priest and his father. The dogs went wild with joy, and his favourite peregrine scolde

in colt next day, and see how well forward he could get him. So next day they drew the home covers, and the fox, brave fellow, ran out to Parkside, making for the granite

ter than the

f consequences, but which he felt and knew was there, and might break out again. He was a changed man. There was a gulf between him and the life he had led before he went to London. He had tasted of liberty (or rather, not to profane that Divine word, of licentiousness), and yet not drunk long enough to make him weary of the draught. He had heard the dogmas he was brought up to believe infallible turned to unutterable ridicule by men like Saltire and Wrekin; men who, as he had the

information whatever. Lady Ascot says that she was a pale girl, with about as much air as a milkmaid; on which two facts I can build no theory as to her personal character

orld, for he was a poorly educated man, without resources; and so he went on moping and brooding until good old Father Clifford

ung wife on his arm. As Father Clifford, trembling and astonished, advanced to lay his hand upon he

p up a balance of power in his house. For, if he had not married this lady, the hero of this book would never have been born; and this greater propo