"What! would you sell your ancestors, like Charles Surface?"
"No, I wouldn't go so far as that. But these pictures are wasting their sweetness on the desert air in being shut up here, and, as I need money more than pictures, I would sell them if I could. I don't see much chance of doing so, however, for the Errington cousins--and I've got about a hundred--would come down on me as a lunatic if I did so. Hang them! I wish they'd this place to keep up on a small income, they wouldn't be so anxious to keep these miles of painted canvas. But never mind, while there's Aunt Jelly there's hope, so come along and look at the hall from the gallery. It's the best place to see it."
So they went along a narrow passage into the older portion of the house, and soon found themselves in the wide gallery running round the hall at a height of about forty feet. A wonderfully impressive place it was, with its lance-shaped windows, filled with stained glass, through which the pale sunlight streamed, casting fantastic patterns on the oaken floor. Between every window, shields, spears and battle axes, with faded banners drooping above them, telling of ancient wars and the days of chivalry, when the deserted hall was filled with men-at-arms and bold knights in steel armour, before the invention of gunpowder relegated their iron panoply to the obscurity of country houses and museums. At the upper end of the room a raised dais, above which a royal canopy and the Errington arms flashing in gilt splendour from the dusky shadows, while high above arose the pointed roof with its great oaken rafters faintly seen in the gloom. It was certainly a fine specimen of the mediæval ages and doubtless many stirring tales could be told of the generations that had feasted under its lofty roof, or departed from thence to harry the lands of weaker neighbours, as was the kindly fashion in those misnamed good old days.
"A wonderful old place, isn't it?" said Guy, as they stood looking from the height of the gallery at the immense space below, "and genuine too. None of the sham antiquity of Abbotsford here. All this is the real thing, and just as it was in the old days when the Erringtons wore those absurd suits of armour, and poked their neighbours' eyes out with those long spears."
"You ought to be very proud of your race, Guy."
"I don't see much to be proud of in them," he replied candidly, throwing his arm round his wife's waist, "they were a humdrum lot at best the Erringtons. Went to church, minded their own business, and left other people's wives alone. They always seemed to have been on the safe side in keeping their property, however, and if it hadn't been for their building craze, I'd be decently off. According to their ideas there was no place like home, however, and that is why they spent such a lot of money over it. I am proud of the dear old Hall, but I do wish it wasn't quite so large."
"Do you use this place at all?" asked Alizon as they left the gallery.
"Only for dances, and tenants' dinners," he answered carelessly; "it looks very pretty when it's full, but at present one would think it was haunted. Quite a mistake, as there isn't a single ghost in the whole place. A pity, isn't it, for this queer old house just looks a fit place for shadowy figures and gruesome legends."
"I suppose there are plenty of stories about the Hall."
"Oh yes! but very mild stories, I'm afraid, not even equal to the average shilling shocker. Errington Hall has no history which would delight novelists or antiquaries. Queen Elizabeth didn't stop here on a royal progress, Oliver Cromwell's Ironsides didn't besiege the place, and though I think the Hanoverian Erringtons were mixed up in Jacobite plots they hid neither Prince James nor Prince Charlie. We are a very prosaic lot, my dear, and although the whole house is romantic enough in appearance, there isn't a story about it that would frighten a five-year-old child."