He pointed out to them that the fountain, which he could not remember being in working order even in his boyhood, was built over the ancient well of the castle. The statue apparently dated from William and Mary’s time; at least, it was very like the objects they set up at Hampton Court. Part of its pedestal was made of three Ogham stones, which were said to have stood by the well in former times. Flint knives and other primitive weapons had been found in the garden. Antiquaries were not agreed as to the possibility of the well having been in existence at any very remote period, but it was not unlikely that this small garden had been the center of interest—perhaps the scene of Druidical sacrifices, or even of the famous conversion of the tribe resident here by St. David—at the beginning of things. These speculations as to precise localities were interesting, but scarcely convincing. The wall at the end was a more definite affair. It had been built after the Third Crusade by Stephen de la Tour, as the Normanized name went then.
“Ah, the name has not always been spelled the same then?” interrupted Christian here. He spoke with an eagerness which the abstract interest of the query seemed hardly to warrant.
“Heavens, no!” said Lord Julius. “It has been Tor with one ‘r’ and with two; it has been de la Tour, as I said, and Tour without the ‘de la,’ and Toure, and I know of at least one branch of the people of the name of Tower who are undoubtedly of our stock. It is quite conceivable that many others of them are, too.”
“Then the forms of names can be altered at will?” pursued Christian. “If a man says, ‘I will spell it so and so,’ then it is all right?”
“Oh, yes,” explained the other. “Often two spellings exist side by side. Witness the Seymours a few years ago. You had one brother writing it Seymour and another St. Maur. The latter is now the official spelling—for the present, at least.”
“This is extremely interesting to me,” the young man cried. “So I may keep my name as I have always borne it! I may write myself ‘Christian Tower’! That lifts a load from my mind. I had been unhappy to think of abandoning the name my father liked. He always both spelled and pronounced it ‘Tower,’ and that is why I shall be so glad to do the same.”
An acute kind of silence rested upon the group for an awkward minute.
“Oh, don’t let us have anymore archaeology before luncheon, Lord Julius,” put in the lady then. “Caermere so reeks with history that one must take it in small installments or be overwhelmed altogether. You were going to tell us about your mother, Lord Julius, and how you remember her, here in this dear old garden. And positively nothing has been changed since!”
“I mustn’t go quite so far as that,” said the old man, smilingly. He seemed grateful to her for the digression. “A certain systematic renovation has, of course, been necessary; I have arranged with the gardeners to manage that. I dare say there are scarcely any plants or roots here now which were individually in existence in my mother’s time; but their children, their descendants, are here in their places. Except for Cheltnam’s buds on the wall there, I don’t think any novelties have been introduced. If so, it was against my wish. The lilies in that corner, for example, are lineal progeny, heaven knows how many times removed, of the lilies my mother planted there. These roses are slips from other slips of the old cabbage and damask and moss roses she used to sit and look at with her crewel-work in her lap. The old flowers are gone, and yet they are not gone. In the same way, my mother has been dead for sixty years, and yet this is still her garden, and she is still here—here in the person of me, her son, and of Christian, her great-grandson.”
“And I,” commented Lady Cressage, upon a sudden smiling impulse, “I alone am an intruding new species—like one of Cheltnam’s ‘niphetos’ buds on the old rose. I hasten to extricate myself.” And with a bright little nod and mock half-courtesy, she caught her gown in one hand, wheeled round and moved quickly down the path and through the hedge.