All the occupants of both carriages, which had come to a standstill, were now on their feet gazing at that hoary headland, capped with its ancient stronghold.
The field glass was passed from one to another, while the carriages paused long enough for all to take a view.
“So that was the home of my grandparents and of our forefathers for—how long, dear mamma?” inquired Odalite.
“Eight centuries, my dear. The round tower that you see is the oldest part of the edifice, and was built by Kedrik of Enderbee in the year 950.”
“Lord, what a fine time the rats, mice, bats, owls, rooks and ghosts must have in it!” remarked Wynnette.
“It is like a picture in a Christmas ghost story,” said Elva.
“It seems like Aunt Sukey was reading it all to me out of a novel by the evening fire at Grove Hill,” mused Rosemary.
“Go on,” said Mr. Force.
And the carriages started again.
The road, still running along the top of the cliff, turned gradually more and more to the left until its course verged from the north to the northwest, and then to the west, as it entered upon the long, high point of land upon which stood the castle. The road now began to ascend another steep, paved with stones on edge to make a hold for the horses’ feet in climbing, and at length entered a sort of alley between huge stone walls that rose higher and higher on either side as the road ascended, until it reached a heavy gateway flanked with towers, between which, and over the gateway, hung the spiked and rusting iron portcullis, looking as if it were ready, at the touch of a spring, to fall and impale any audacious intruder who might pass beneath it. But it was fast rusted into its place, where it had been stationary for ages.