Chapter I:
Dubley Castle

IN the county of Worcestershire, Dubley Castle stands upon a high eminence overlooking Petting Hill, the great industrial center of coal mining, iron and electrical works. Built in the twelfth century, the old feudal castle is surrounded by high walls, containing port holes for guns as in feudal times. The castle and the surrounding works are the property of his Lordship, the Earl of Dubley, one of the wealthiest nobleman of the realm.

In the library of this ancient castle, the Earl sat in a large arm-chair before an open grate fire although it was a bright summer morning. For many years he had suffered with chronic gout. His infirmity, together with the loss of his young wife in early life, had rather increased his choleric and stern disposition. Of middle size in height and a tendency to stoutness, a clean shaven face showing his firm and stubborn lips and chin, his Lordship looked to be about three score and ten.

His two sons, Harold, now the Earl of Montroy, and the Honorable Oliver Monchrief, were trained under his stern discipline.

Lord Montroy, a man of about 35, had made a very satisfactory settlement when he married into a very wealthy but newly made aristocratic family according to the plans of his father. His light mustache covered the weak lips inherited from his mother, which represented a desire for peace at personal sacrifice rather than cowardice. His admiration and love for his young brother had remained unshaken ever since he assumed an almost parental relationship in Oliver's early childhood.

Possessed of his father's obstinacy, Oliver was continually in friction with the Earl, his father, and Lord Montroy was the invariable peacemaker between the two.

This morning the Earl of Dubley's features expressed impatience as he frequently looked thru the windows out upon the road leading to the castle. Finally, he struck upon the floor with his heavy cane, which leaned against a nearby desk. Peter, his favorite old valet, in uniform, stoop shouldered and about 60 years of age, entered silently and awaited his lordship's pleasure.

Say to the Honorable Oliver Montcrief that I desire his presence immediately."

"Yes, my lord." After the valet retired, the Earl frowned impatiently while he listened for his son's approach. But Peter returning, said: "My Lord, the Honorable Oliver did not sleep within the castle last evening, and he cannot be found."

Just then an automobile drove up the side driveway. Lord Dubley turned his head and saw, thru the window, a dark complexioned young man, of about five feet seven inches, clean shaven, showing a determined contour about the chin and lips, driving the machine. Five minutes later he entered the room hurriedly, "Good morning, father. I hope that you are not suffering from the gout this morning."

"Sit down," the earl commanded. "I am not suffering very much, thank you. But where were you last evening and this morning?"

"I slept in London last night, father."

"In London? I see that you need to settle down. The castle has been too long without a mistress. When are you going to announce your engagement to Lady Cliff? I want the matter settled very soon," the Earl announced.

Oliver turned in his chair uneasily, then he arose and approached his father appealingly. "Father, that can never be. I am already married to Miss Eva Ennis, the daughter of squire Ennis, of Stonehenge County, Wiltshire. We were married last evening, and I have come to ask your forgiveness and blessing."

Lord Dubley leaped from his seat and shaking his fist, he exclaimed: "Oliver Montcrief, have you really married the daughter of that pauper squire of Stonehenge? You will never have a farthing from me to support that family."

"But father, Eva is from a very aristocratic family, and—"

"Go away and never return to this castle! Oliver!—"

As he struck the table a violent blow, the gout seized the old Earl. So he dropped into the chair and grabbed his right foot with one hand as he shook his fist at Oliver with the other. Oliver rushed to his rescue, but pushing him away, the Earl pointed his finger and exclaimed: "Oliver Montcrief, you are no longer my son. Go!"

Oliver turned and started away, but turned, as he reached the door, and made a last appeal to his father for forgiveness and his blessing. But the Earl was obdurate and ordered Oliver to begone. So Oliver directed his chauffeur to drive to Montroy castle, in the Scottish moorlands.