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been brought under submission at the time of Magna Carta.
    But all that remained of the original Castle was a Tower which had been heightened and strengthened with castellated ramparts a century or so later.
    Adjoining the Tower was now an enormous edifice, the centre of which was Elizabethan, while other parts were Restoration, Queen Anne, and early Georgian.
    It might be a hotch-potch of architecture, but each century had contributed to the impressiveness of the whole Castle, which from a distance gave the impression of being not so much a great fortification as a fairy-tale Palace.
    The afternoon sun was shining on the hundreds of windows, and silhouetted against the sky were statues on the roof which the Duke remembered vividly.
    Between each one was an exquisite stone vase. He had as a small boy climbed up to see them close to, and they had then seemed enormous.
    But now in the distance they too had a fairy-tale quality that once again made him think of Knights in armour, nymphs rising from the lake in the haze that hung over it in the early morning, and dragons living in the dark fir woods and breathing fire at those who disturbed them.
    Then abruptly, as if he had no wish to be fanciful or poetical at the moment, his mind came back to Lady Alvina and her perfidy in daring to damage anything so precious as the traditions of the Harlings, all of which were centred in this one great building.
    As he drew nearer he noticed, again with a little surge of anger, that there were weeds in the gravel sweep in front of the great flight of grey stone steps which led up to the front door.
    He pulled his horses to a standstill and said to his groom:
    “The stables are round to the right of the house. Take the horses there. You will find grooms to help you.”
    “Very good, Your Grace.”
    The Duke handed him the reins, saying as he did so:
    “I will send someone from the house to help take the luggage in through the back door.”
    The groom touched the brim of his crested top hat. The Duke alighted from the Phaeton and walked up the steps towards the front door.
    This was the moment for which he had been longing and waiting. But now that he was here, he half-regretted that he had not informed Lady Alvina of his arrival.
    Because Gerald had notified them at Berkeley Square that he was coming home, Bateson had been waiting in the Hall, and two footmen had run the red carpet down the steps and across the pavement the very moment the carriage which had brought him from Dover had pulled up outside.
    But here there was no red carpet, and as he reached the door he saw that it was open and for the first time wondered what he would do if Lady Alvina was away.
    He then told himself that it would not constitute any problem, because the servants would obviously still be there.
    He walked into the huge marble Hall and saw that the stone statues of gods and goddesses were still in the niches, and the wide staircase with its carved golden balustrade was just as impressive as it had always been.
    He felt he was being welcomed home.
    He stood still for a moment, looking at the tattered flags hanging beside the beautifully carved mantelpiece.
    They had all been won by Harlings in battle, and he remembered as a small boy being told where each one had been captured.
    Agincourt especially had remained in his mind. He looked at the French flag captured then as if to reassure himself that it was still there.
    He walked on through the quiet house, remembering well where each room was and what it was called.
    At the top of the long flight of stairs there was on the left the Picture-Gallery, which ran the whole length of the house, and on the right were the State bedrooms.
    These included Queen Elizabeth’s room, Charles II’s, and Queen Anne’s, and at the end of the corridor was the Duke and Duchess’s Suite, in which so many of his forebears, with the exception of himself, had been born and died.
    He remembered that to the right on the ground floor