Occupying the site of a castle demolished by the French when they landed in Cornwall during the reign of Henry VI., the latter is an edifice much older than it looks.
The whole house was an epitome of the past; trophies of war and the chase—coats of mail and stags' horns—decorated the hall, and some of the rooms had remained untouched since the days of the "Virgin Queen," hung with tapestry, which was lifted to give entrance; hearths intended for wood alone, and andirons—heraldic griffins—to support the logs; and there were curious cabinets, Cromwellian chairs, and carved prie-Dieu of all kinds.
On one evening in autumn, the present lord of Restormel Court was lingering over his wine—some choice old Madeira, which had been carefully iced for him by the butler—in company with his two nephews, the eldest of whom was understood to be, and acknowledged by himself and all, as his future heir.
Sir Launcelot, verging then on his eightieth year, was a pale, thin, and wasted-looking man. He was toying with his wine-glass, and from time to time contemplating his wasted white hands, on each of which a diamond glittered; and then he looked at his nephews, who were intently conversing near the fire.
They were both men about thirty-eight and forty years of age respectively. Arthur Tresilian, the eldest, and ever the prime favourite, was remarkably handsome, with fine, regular features.
His brother, Basset Tresilian, who followed the legal profession with success in London, was less athletic, but quite as striking in figure.
Somehow people, especially in Cornwall, did not like Mr. Basset Tresilian; and his periodical visits to the Court added no brightness to the circle usually to be met there.
"Well, boys" (for though men, the old baronet, by force of habit, called them boys still), "fill your glasses, and don't leave me to drink alone. Egad! in my time fellows didn't shirk their wine as you do; but it is all cigars and odious pipes now. Well, Basset, what does he say? Is he inclined to follow the example you so boldly set him some sixteen years ago, and take unto himself a wife?"
"I cannot say, sir. It is of a horse we were talking."
"A horse—pshaw! You were wise to marry young, Basset. I did so!" said Sir Launcelot.