The Castle de Werve presented all the appearances of ancient opulence; but also of dilapidation dating from a long time back. There was the feudal drawbridge, immovable through long disuse, leading straight to the large gate, full of those iron rivets used in olden times as a defence against the attacks of the hatchet and pike. But the wood itself was rotting, and the rusty hinges could scarcely sustain their accustomed weight. In the tumbledown walls I could see loopholes large enough for a giant to creep through.

The house had been rebuilt in the time of the Stadtholder WilliamIII.—King WilliamIII. of England—and the rich, solemn style then in vogue had been adopted. There was a sort of rotunda in the centre, kept, relatively speaking, in better repair than the rest of the building, flanked by two wings, which seemed uninhabited, and in fact so neglected as to be uninhabitable. Most of the panes were cracked or broken, and only in some cases had the broken glass been replaced by gray paper. The aloe-trees, set out to ornament the front of the house, were planted for the greater part in cracked or broken vases.

As Francis had remarked, before I could follow her into the house “half the garrison turned out” to salute us in the person of the Captain, whom I immediately recognized from the description I had had of him. He wore a blue jacket and trousers, a waistcoat buttoned close up to his chin, and the military black-leather collar, which he had not yet been able to dispense with. The William’s Order1 adorned his breast; and he stood erect in spite of his stiff leg, which obliged him to support himself with a stick. He had placed his cap jauntily and soldier-like on one side of his head, and his entire bearing called up the idea of a military man only half at his ease in civilian dress. Though deep in the fifties, his hair is still jet black, and the length and stiffness of his mustachios, À la NapolÉon, indicate a constant use of cosmetics. His face is very red, his eyes brown and bold, his features rude, and his thick red lips and short round chin give him a sensual appearance. He had in his mouth a long German pipe, from which he puffed clouds of smoke, and after a military salute he accosted us in these words—

“Well, Major, what’s this? Have you made a prisoner? or is this some one to be quartered on us?”

“A visitor for the General, Captain,” replied Francis, stepping past him, and giving me a hint to follow her.

“Had a deuced bad luncheon! Waited half an hour for the Freule; the eggs too hard, the beefsteak like leather, his Excellency out of humour—and all this because the Freule takes it into her head to ride out at inconvenient hours, and return on foot to the fortress leading the hero of this pretty adventure in triumph behind her,” growled the Captain, in a half-angry, half-jesting tone, as he followed us.

Francis turning round said—

“All this, Captain, is because your Major—you understand me, your Major—has had the pleasure of meeting with her cousin, Jonker Leopold van Zonshoven; let that suffice you, and if you have any more complaints, put them in your report-book.”

After this I followed Francis through the vestibule, where a servant received us with a military salute, and showed us into an immense drawing-room hung with embossed gilt leather. Here the General was taking a nap in a high-backed easy-chair. Francis entered the room softly enough, but the loud heavy step of the Captain, who thought fit to follow us, awoke the sleeper with a start.

Instead of the pourfendeur I had conjured up in my fancy from old Aunt Roselaer’s accounts, I perceived a little, thin, grey-headed old man, the traits of whose face showed him to be a person of superior breeding, wrapped in a very threadbare damask dressing-gown. His nose was long and straight, his lips thin and pale, his eyes of a soft blue, with an expression of lethargy or fatigue. His white, dry hands had very prominent veins; and he wore a large signet-ring, with which he kept playing in a nervous, agitated manner all the time he was speaking.

Francis introduced me in her own peculiar way—

“Grandfather, I bring you Jonker Leopold van Zonshoven, to whom you must give a hearty welcome, for he is a curiosity in our family.”

“In our family! Jonker van Zonshoven—ah! yes, I remember, I understand,” he said, in a surprised and embarrassed tone, which proved his recollection to be of the vaguest; but he bowed politely, and offered me his hand, which I shook cordially.

“Sit down, Jonker,” he said, pointing to a chair behind which the Captain stood as if he intended to dispute the place with me.

Francis rang the bell, and asked Fritz if the luncheon were still on the table.

The servant, with a surprised look, answered—

“It is half-past one.”

“Right, Fritz. It is the rule of the house: he who is not here at roll-call is not expected. Bring a plate of cold meat and bread into this room.”

“And a glass of port-wine for the gentleman,” put in the Captain.

When Fritz had left the room, the Captain came and stood straight before me, saying—

“Pardon me, Jonker, I must have a good look at you. There must be something peculiar in a young man who has so quickly found favour in the eyes of our Major.”

I hesitated about giving him the answer he deserved in the presence of the General; and, besides, Francis had warned me he was a man of no education.

However, the General, speaking in a soft yet authoritative voice, said—

“Rolf, there are jests which may pass amongst ourselves, but you seem to forget we are not now alone, and you are wanting in respect to Miss Mordaunt.”

“Because I call her Major in the presence of a relation of the family! Excuse me, your Excellency, but you ought to have given me the watchword beforehand. I shall not forget again.”

“It is no good, grandfather,” said Francis; “at his age we cannot break him of his bad habits, though we might expect him to be respectful to the granddaughter of General von Zwenken, in spite of his having taught her her drill when a child. And now, as you have asked for the watchword of the day, Captain, attend: it is this, ‘Politeness to my visitor.’”

It became clear to me that the Captain had long been indulged in his vulgar familiarities, and that I ought not to attach too much importance to them. As soon as Fritz brought in the port-wine he filled three glasses brimful; presented the first glass to me, then one to the General, and taking up his own, said in his rough, good-natured way—

“The health of our commandant, and a welcome to you, Jonker!” apparently thinking this the best amends he could make.

As soon as Francis had taken a slight repast she left the room, and, at a hint from the General, Rolf did the same.

Now that we were left to our two selves, the General, drawing himself up with dignity in his chair, said—

“A word with you, Jonker, if you please.”

I bowed assent.

“But be so good as to move your chair nearer to me; I am a little deaf.”

I complied with his request.

“Pardon me for asking you a question which may seem somewhat out of place. Is this the first time you have met my granddaughter?”

“The first time, General;” and I rapidly sketched an account of our meeting and walk to the Castle.

“Well, I am glad of it,” said the old man with a sigh of relief. “My granddaughter is possessed of many excellent qualities, that I can truly say; but she has her peculiarities. At times she can be very brusque, and she has a foible for braving the laws of good society, and setting all the world at defiance, which has made her many enemies. It occurred to me she was now trying to make amends for some misunderstanding which had arisen between herself and you.”

I assured him this was not the case, and that I felt my kindly reception to be the more flattering since Miss Mordaunt was not accustomed to flatter.

“Then explain to me,” he continued, “your relationship to the family, for, though I remember having heard of a Van Zonshoven who was related to my deceased wife, it is so long ago——”

“My grandmother, General, was a Freule van Roselaer.”

“She married a French nobleman, if I recollect aright?”

“A Belgian, General: Baron d’Hermaele.”

“Well, yes, it was during the French occupation of the country under Napoleon I.; and in those days one did not pay so much attention to nationality. Our disagreement with Freule Sophia prevented our making his acquaintance. He settled in Belgium, and I heard afterwards that Baron d’Hermaele stood in high favour at court in the reign of King William I.”

“This court favour cost him his life,” I added, “for he remained faithful to his king during the Belgian Revolution; his castle near Larken was pillaged and burnt by the populace, and he himself cruelly murdered whilst defending his wife and children.”

“Another fact out of those sad and confused times which I so well remember. My men were burning with rage to punish such rebels and brigands, but, alas! they were kept inactive. What became of the widow and children?”

“She returned to Holland with one son and seven daughters, of whom the eldest married my father, Jonker van Zonshoven. I am their only son.”

“Then I am your great-uncle, Jonker.”

“I have made the same calculation, General, and it is for this reason——”

“You don’t come to talk to me about family affairs, I hope?” he interrupted, growing uncomfortable.

“But, my dear uncle, we can speak of family affairs without their necessarily causing unpleasantness.”

“Hum! Well, you are a Van Zonshoven, a stranger to all the pitiful feuds which have separated me from the Roselaers. Whole treasures have been thrown away on the lawsuits they have brought against me. Francis and I are both still suffering from such losses. Look here, if you bring any painful news for Francis, or any humiliating tidings for me—I know that even the validity of my Swiss marriage is contested—I beseech you, be generous, spare her as long as possible, for she is ignorant of this fact. Perhaps, old and broken though I be by trials, I can ward off the evil day a little longer; but be sincere and tell me plainly——”

“I assure you, General, my chief desire—as I have already told Miss Mordaunt—is to save you every kind of trouble I can. I wish simply to draw family ties closer, and my most ardent desire is that a Van Zonshoven may have the good fortune to heal the wounds caused by the Roselaers.”

“Many things are necessary! Much money! As we soldiers say, gold is the sinews of war—and, pardon me if I make a mistake, the Van Zonshovens are not rich.”

“You are not mistaken, General. My grandmother and her children had to live on the pension allowed the widow of Baron d’Hermaele, and this pension ceased with her life.”

“And did the king do nothing for the daughters?”

“What would you expect from him, uncle? The only son was promoted and rewarded, but he died in the flower of his age. It was impossible for the young ladies to keep WilliamII. in constant recollection of their father’s loyalty. Besides, we decided not to petition or supplicate for favours, preferring to rely on our own energies and self-help. This principle was instilled into me whilst I was young.”

“You surprise me. But is there not a Van Zonshoven Minister for Foreign Affairs in the present Government?” asked the General. “He must be a rich man, I fancy. What is your relationship to him?”

“He is my uncle; but I esteem him little. He is married to the coffee-coloured daughter of a rich Java merchant—for her money, of course. She is neither intelligent, amiable, nor educated; and indeed, has got little from him in return for her money except the right to bear his name and title.”

“A pitiful mÉsalliance, certainly! But for you the consequences are a rich and childless uncle?” he observed by way of a query.

“Yes, and he is already old. But, unfortunately, I am estranged from him, for I consider it beneath my dignity to beg favours from him.”

The General shook his head. “There spoke the blood of the Roselaers.”

“No, General, the Van Zonshovens are not vindictive, but proud. Though poor, I have always prized my independence above all things. I have lived soberly, and never indulged in pleasures above my means; consequently I have not been forced to sacrifice my liberty, which, to tell you the truth, is dearer to me than my patent of nobility.”

“Bravo! bravissimo!” resounded in my ears from the bottom of the room; and it came from the deep, clear voice of Francis, who had been entering the room as I spoke these words.

“You see, Jonker,” said the General, somewhat fretfully, and knitting his brows, “your style of speaking has touched my granddaughter’s weak side. Her dreams are of independence, and her illusion is to be indebted to nobody.”

“Not my illusion, grandfather. My principle is rather to be poor and independent, and appear so; and rather to suffer privations and make sacrifices, than be guilty of meanness for the sake of supplying imaginary wants and desires which we ought manfully to resist.”

The General bit his lips, shut his eyes, and sank back in his chair, as if he had received a blow from a club; but unwilling to acknowledge a defeat, after a few seconds he raised himself up and said to Francis—

“I allow that you far surpass me in bearing privations; but it would be well for you to learn a little self-restraint. At my time of life it is hard to bear reproaches. I cannot change my way of living, though I confess you deny yourself much for my sake.”

“Come, come, grandfather, you know my words sound harsher than I mean them; but you cannot expect me to approve what angers me—such self-restraint I shall never learn.”

“That’s unfortunate,” replied the General in a bitter tone; “for what will Leopold think of us if he must listen to such reproaches at every turn.”

“He will think, uncle, that he is on a visit to a family which is above dissembling to deceive him, and he will esteem such frankness as an honour and a privilege——”

“Well! that’s an advantage you’ll enjoy to your heart’s content, Jonker, if you stay here long,” interrupted the Captain, who had again entered the room. “Our Major has the praiseworthy custom of speaking her mind without respect of persons; and when she’s displeased, it is ‘parade and proceed to execution,’ as we say in the courts-martial.”

“Had pardons not been heard of, Captain,” retorted Francis, half in jest, half in earnest, “you would have been dismissed the service long ere this.”

“That only proves my long-suffering and patience, Miss Major; you know I permit you to treat me like a corporal would a raw recruit. I would not bear from the Prince Field-Marshal what I have borne from you.”

“Captain,” said the General, who had been listening nervously, “Captain, I thought I had given you to understand that I desired to be en famille.”

“And I, General, not guessing the conversation could be so entertaining for you, came to propose our usual remedy against low spirits: a game at piquet.”

“Thank you, Captain, no cards this afternoon; I am anxious to talk to my nephew.”