I had been asked to dine at Ardmuir House that evening, and as it was a
matter of eight miles distant, I was to stay the night. Accordingly, I
started in good time in the pony cart, old Willy by my side to bring back
the trap. Colonel Ashol was by way of being civil to Val and myself, and
frequently invited us; my brother, however, seldom accepted, and was
always glad when I undertook to represent the Flemings there. The
Ashols, though a family of a feeble type of Protestants, showed no
decided bigotry. They had a few Catholics in their employ on the estate,
and were cordial enough with us.

Ardmuir House and some of its land had been Church property before the
Reformation. Val looked the matter up once, and discovered that it had
been a dependency upon one of the larger abbeys, and was itself a place
of no little importance.

The mansion itself was rather picturesque; it had been rebuilt in a later
century on the site and from the materials of the former church and
monastery. You drove for some distance up a stately avenue of beeches
before sighting the house. It was a big, roomy place, with fine large
windows and handsome moldings round them--probably portions of the spoils
of the ancient erection. A wide portico, supported on stone pillars,
stood in front of the chief entrance, and carriages might drive under its
shelter to set down the occupants at the doorstep. An air of gloom
seemed to hang about it, owing to the huge trees which grew pretty close
to it in places.

The one striking feature about the house was the parapet, which ran round
the entire roof. This was pierced in such a way as to form the letters
composing a text of Scripture. The inscription, in huge characters, ran