father), a gentle boy, very bony in limb, after the
fashion of the Rosewarnes; the younger, Michael, an epileptic. His mother
had been turned out of doors one night in a north-westerly gale, and had
lain till morning in a cold pew of the disused chapel, whereby the child
came to birth prematurely. This happened in 1771, the year that Nicholas
took possession of the estate. He treated his old mother even worse,
being fierce with her because of the small annual charge. She grew blind
and demented toward the end, and was given a room in the west wing, over
the counting-house. Nicholas removed the door-handle on the inside, and
the wainscot there still showed a dull smear, rubbed by the poor
creature's shoulder as she trotted round and round; also marks upon the
door, where her fingers had grabbled for the missing handle. There were
dreadful legends of this Nicholas--one in particular of a dark foreigner
who had been landed, heavily ironed, from a passing ship, and had found
hospitality at Hall. The ship (so the story went) was a pirate, and the
man so monstrously wicked that even her crew could not endure him.
During his sojourn the cards and drink were going at Hall night and day,
and every night found Nicholas mad-drunk. He began to mortgage, and
whispers went abroad of worse ways of meeting his losses; of ships lured
upon the rocks, and half-drowned sailors knocked upon the head, or chopped
at with axes.

All this came to an end in the great thunderstorm of 1778, when the
harvesters, running for shelter to the kitchen, found Nicholas lying in
the middle of the floor with his mouth twisted and eyeballs staring.
They were lifting the body, when a cry from the women fetched them to the
windows, in time to catch a glimpse of the foreigner sneaking away under
cover of the low west wall. As he broke into a run the lightning flashed
upon the corners of a brass-bound box he carried under his arm. One or
two gave chase, but the rain met them on the outer threshold in a deluge,
and in the blind confusion of it he made off, nor was seen again.

Thus died Nicholas Rosewarne, and was followed to the grave by one mourner
only--his epileptic child, Michael. The heir, Nicholas II., had taken the
king's shilling to be quit of his home, and was out in Philadelphia,
fighting under Sir Henry Clinton. He returned in 1780 with a shattered
knee-pan and a young wife he had married abroad. She died within a year
of her arrival at H