A week later the remains of the last Earl of Engelmeed were laid in the vault of his forefathers, amid all
“The pride, pomp and circumstance”
of funeral parade.
After the ceremonies the rector, with his wife, daughter and grandchild, returned to the rectory, where they were all to live during the minority of the infant countess.
Ran and Judy came back to their beloved home, but had scarcely got settled there when they received letters announcing the speedy arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Cleve Stuart, with their children and a friend—Mr. O’Melaghlin, of Arghalee, in Antrim.
“I wonder who he is,” pondered Ran, as he took the letter over to the rectory to show it to Mr. Campbell.
“Why, I know the name and the place, but not the man. I have been to Arghalee. All except the very ground on which the ancient castle stands, and which the impoverished O’Melaghlin would not sell under any stress of fortune, forms a part of the duke’s estate. The castle is one of the show places of the neighborhood; not for its parks, plantations or picture galleries, by any means—for there are none—but for the great antiquity of the ruins. The owner was supposed to be traveling abroad. He is The O’Melaghlin in question, of course. The guidebook to the ancient castle shows the family to be lineal descendants from Roderick O’Melaghlin, monarch of Meath, and more remotely from Konn, a somewhat mythical king of prehistoric Ireland. So, you see, you will have an illustrious guest, though he may be as poor as ‘Job’s turkey.’”
“No; the letter says he has made an immense fortune in the gold mines of Australia, and is coming back to live on his estate.”
“When do you expect them?”
“By the next steamer—for this letter was written from New York the day before they were to start.”