and yards of many stately ships, of timber
vessels in the Baltic trade, of tea-clippers, and Indiamen, and emigrant
ships, and now and then the raking spars of a privateer owned by
Cullerne adventurers. All these had long since sailed for their last
port, and of ships nothing more imposing met the eye than the mast of
Dr Ennefer's centre-board laid up for the winter in a backwater. Yet
the scene was striking enough, and those who knew best said that nowhere
in the town was there so fine an outlook as from the upper windows of
the Hand of God.

Many had looked out from those windows upon that scene: the skipper's
wife as her eyes followed her husband's barque warping down the river
for the voyage from which he never came back; honeymoon couples who
broke the posting journey from the West at Cullerne, and sat hand in
hand in summer twilight, gazing seaward till the white mists rose over
the meadows and Venus hung brightening in the violet sky; old Captain
Frobisher, who raised the Cullerne Yeomanry, and watched with his
spy-glass for the French vanguard to appear; and, lastly, Martin
Joliffe, as he sat dying day by day in his easy-chair, and scheming how
he would spend the money when he should come into the inheritance of all
the Blandamers.

Westray had finished breakfast, and stood for a time at the open window.
The morning was soft and fine, and there was that brilliant clearness
in the air that so often follows heavy autumn rain. His full enjoyment
of the scene was, however, marred by an obstruction which impeded free
access to the window. It was a case of ferns, which seemed to be formed
of an aquarium turned upside down, and supported by a plain wooden
table. Westray took a dislike to the dank-looking plants, and to the
moisture beaded on the glass inside, and made up his mind that the ferns
must be banished. He would ask Miss Joliffe if she could take them
away, and this determination prompted him to consider whether there were
any other articles of furniture with which it would be advisable to
dispense.

He made a mental inventory of his surroundings. There were several
pieces of good mahogany furniture, including some open-backed chairs,
and a glass-fronted book-case, which were survivals from the yeoman's
equipment at Wydcombe Farm. They had been put up for auction with the
rest of Michael Joliffe's effects, but Cullerne taste considered them
old-fashioned, and no bidders were found for them. Many t