leys of the Hesperides,' they followed each turn and
swoop of his fancy with an active sense of its truth and beauty. And
what a brilliant company! How the red flare of torch and cresset would
flicker on the sheen of silk, the luster of velvet, the polished
brightness of morion and spear. I think I can see those gallant
gentlemen and fine ladies grouped round the players who told of the
strange pranks played by the God of Mirth. Perhaps that same fair
Alice, who supplied the motive of the masque as well as its leading
lady, may be linked with you by stronger ties than those of mere
feminine grace----"

Cynthia did not blush: she grew white, but shook her head.

"You cannot tell," he said. "'Comus' was played in Ludlow only
fourteen years after the landing of the Pilgrim Fathers in New
England, and I would remind you that we stocked the new nation in the
west with some of the bluest blood in Britain. Even in this hall there
were Puritans whose ascetic tastes disapproved of Milton's imageries,
of children play-acting, of the brave show made by the gentry----"

"My mother's people lived in Pennsylvania for generations," she broke
in with a strange wistfulness.

"I knew it," he cried in triumph. "Tell me the names of the
first-nighters at the Milton Theater, Ludlow, on that autumn evening
in 1634, and warrant me to find you an authentic ancestor."

Cynthia bent a puzzled brow at him.

"After this, I shall apply myself to 'Comus' with added
comprehension," she said. "But--you take my breath away; have you,
then, delved so deep in the mine of English history that you can
people 'most every ruined pile in Britain with the men and women of
the dead years?"

He laughed, and colored a little, with true British confusion at
having been caught in an extravagant mood.

"There you lay bare the mummer," he said. "What clever fellows actors
would be if they grasped the underlying realities of all the fine
words they mouth! No; I quote 'Comus' only because on one
half-forgotten occasion I played in it."

"Where?"

The prompt question took him unaware.

"At Fairholme," he said.

"Is that another castle?"

"No--merely a Georgian residence."

"I seem to have heard of it--somewhere--I can't remember."

He remembered quite well--was not Mrs. Devar, student of Burke,
sitting in the car at the castle gate?

"Oh, we must hurry," he said shamefacedly. "I have kept you here too
long, for we have yet to

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