The driver turned and looked at her with astonishment and some indignation. Then checking himself, he said, in perfect simplicity:
“Oo! you don’t know, young leddy, I reckon—this place belongs to our landlord, Col. Angus Anglesea.”
Then drawing up his horse, he inquired:
“Will you get out and go through the house, sir?”
“For Heaven’s sake, uncle, no—not yet. Let us go directly to the mausoleum, and see the date that is on the tomb, and solve this doubt that is intolerable,” pleaded Le.
“Very well, my dear boy; very well. Kirby, drive at once to the mausoleum. We will see the house later,” said Mr. Force.
The man touched his hat and started his horse.
They turned into a grass-grown road winding in and out among magnificent oaks that seemed the growth of many centuries, and that were probably once parts of the primeval forest of Britain.
Presently they came upon the mausoleum. It stood between two fine oak trees, and in front of a third, which formed its background. It was built in the form of a Grecian temple and surrounded by a silver-plated iron railing.
The carriage stopped and our tourists got out.