“No, but they fondly hoped they’d find a mysterious paper in cryptogram, like the ‘Gold Bug,’ you know, telling them to go out in the dark of the moon, and dig north by northwest under the old apple tree.”
“Don’t try to be funny, Clair,” put in Bob; “go on with the yarn. You’re telling it well to-night.”
“And then,” said Sinclair, looking from one to another of his interested hearers, “and then the years rolled by until the fair maiden, Emmeline Cromarty, was of sufficient age to have suitors for her lily-white hand. As we can well believe, after a mere glance in her direction, she was the belle of the whole countryside. Brave gallants from far and near came galloping into the courtyard, and dismounting in feverish, haste, cried, ‘What ho! is the radiant Emmeline within?’ Then the old warden with his clanking keys admitted them, and they stood in rows, that the coquettish damsel might make a selection.”
“How ridiculous you are, Sinclair!” said his mother, smiling. “Can’t you omit that part?”
“Nay, nay, fair lady. And so, it came to pass, that among the shoals of suitors was one who was far more brave and strong and noble than all the rest. Edgar Hartley——”
Sinclair’s voice broke a little as he spoke the name of his revered father. But hiding his emotion, he went on.
“Edgar Hartley wooed and won Emmeline Cromarty, and in the beautiful June of 1880 they were wed and merrily rang the bells. Now while Edgar Hartley was by no means wealthy, he had a fair income, and the fortunes of Cromarty Manor improved. The young couple took up their abode here, and the Dowager Duchess of Cromarty lived with them.”
“I’m not a Duchess,” interposed Mrs. Cromarty, in her calm way.
“You ought to have been, Grandy,” declared Bob. “You look the part, and I’m sure there’s a missing title somewhere that belongs to you. Perhaps Uncle Marmaduke concealed it with the rest of his fortune.”
“No, dear boy; we are not titled people. But the Cromartys are an old family, and much beloved and respected by all the country round.”