rs covered with faded tapestry, an antique
walnut-wood cabinet, another of ebony, a small oasis of carpet in the
middle of the bare oak floor.

"This and the parlour you have seen are all the sitting-rooms my aunt
occupies," said Captain Winstanley; "the rest of the rooms on this
floor are empty, or only used for storehouses. It is a fine old house.
I believe the finest in the island."

"Is there a history hanging to it?" asked Vixen, looking drearily round
the spacious desolate chamber. "Has it been used as a prison, or a
madhouse, or what? I never saw a house that filled me with such
nameless horrors."

"You are fanciful," said the Captain. "The house has no story except
the common history of fallen fortunes. It has been in the Skipwith
family ever since it was built. They were Leicestershire people, and
came to Jersey after the civil war--came here to be near their prince
in his exile--settled here and built Les Tourelles. I believe they
expected Charles would do something handsome for them when he came into
his own, but he didn't do anything. Sir John Skipwith stayed in the
island and became a large landowner, and died at an advanced age--there
is nothing to kill people here, you see--and the Skipwiths have been
Jersey people ever since. They were once the richest family in the
island. They are now one of the poorest. When I say they, I mean my
aunt. She is the last of her race. The Skipwiths have crystallised into
one maiden lady, my mother's only sister."

"Then your mother was a Skipwith?" asked Violet.

"Yes."

"And she was born and brought up here?"

"Yes. She never left Jersey till my father married her. He was here
with his regiment when they met at the governor's ball. Oh, here is my
aunt," said the Captain, as a rustling of silk sounded in the empty
hall.

Vixen drew herself up stiffly, as if preparing to meet a foe. She had
made up her mind to detest Miss Skipwith.

The lady of the manor entered. She shook hands with her nephew, and
presented him with a pale and shrivelled cheek, which he respectfully
saluted.

She was an elderly and faded person, very tall and painfully thin, but
aristocratic to the highest degree. There was the indication of race in
her aquiline nose, high narrow brow and neatly cut chin, her tapering
hand and small slender foot. She was dressed in black silk, rustier and
older than any silk Vixen had ever seen before: not even excepting Mrs.
Scobel's black silk dresses, wh