He shook his head.
"My father's portrait was never painted."
"Tell the truth, John," Stephen enjoined, rising in his place and setting down his pipe. "Our father's portrait is not here, madam, because he was one of those of whom I have spoken—one of those who were drawn into the vortex of the city, and who knew only the shallow ways of life. Listen!"
With a heavy silver candlestick in either hand, Stephen crossed the room. He raised them high above his head and pointed to the pictures one by one.
"John Robert Strangewey, our great-grandfather," he began. "That picture was a presentation from the farmers of Cumberland. He, too, was a magistrate, and held many public offices in the county.
"By his side is his brother, Stephen George Strangewey. For thirty-five years he took the chair at the farmers' ordinary at Market Ketton on every Saturday at one o'clock, and there was never a deserving man in this part of the county, engaged in agricultural pursuits, who at any time sought his aid in vain. They always knew where he was to be found, and every Saturday, before dinner was served, there would be some one there to seek his aid or advice. He lived his life to his own benefit and to the benefit of his neighbors—the life which we are all sent here to lead.
"Two generations before him you see my namesake, Stephen Strangewey. It was he who invented the first threshing-machine used in this county. He farmed the land that my brother and I own to-day. He was churchwarden at our little church, and he, too, was a magistrate. He did his duty in a smaller way, but zealously and honestly, among the hillmen of this district."
"There are gaps in your family history," Louise observed.
"The gaps, madam," Stephen explained, "are left by those who have abandoned their natural heritage. We Strangeweys were hillfolk and farmers, by descent and destiny, for more than four hundred years. Our place is here upon the land, almost among the clouds, and those of us who have realized it have led the lives God meant us to lead. There have been some of our race who have been tempted into the lowlands and the cities. Not one of them brought honor upon our name. Their pictures are not here. They are not worthy to be here."
Stephen set down the candlesticks and returned to his place. Louise, with her hands clasped behind her back, glanced toward John, who still stood by her side.