Now the travelers in the open carriages had a grand view of land and water.
On the east, moorland rolling into hills in the mid distance and rising into mountains on the far horizon. The newly risen sun shining above them and tinting all their tops with the soft and varied hues of the opal stone. Here and there at long distances could be seen the ruined tower of some ancient stronghold, or the roof and chimneys of some old farmstead. Everything looked old or ancient on this wild coast of Cumberland.
On the west the ocean rolled out until lost to view in the mists of the horizon.
Before them northward the road stretched for many a mile.
Far ahead they saw a mighty promontory stretching out to sea. At its base the waves dashed, leaped, roared, tumbled like raging wild beasts clawing at the rocks. On the extreme edge of its point arose a mass of gray stone buildings scarcely to be distinguished from the foundation on which they were built.
“How far is it to Enderby Castle?” inquired Mr. Force of the coachman who drove his carriage.
“Ten miles from the station, sir,” replied the man, touching his hat.
“That is the castle,” said Mrs. Force, pointing to the pile of buildings on the edge of the promontory, and handing the field glass with which she had been taking a view of her birthplace and first home.
“That! It is a fine, commanding situation, but it scarcely looks to be more than five miles from here.”
“It is not, if we could take a bee line over land and sea, but the road has to follow the bend of the estuary,” replied the lady.