Knowing himself to be safe from recognition, Alwyn
inquired of one of these pedestrians what was going on.
'Her Grace gives her tenantry a ball to-night, to keep up the old
custom of the Duke and his father before him, which she does not
wish to change.'
'Indeed. Has she lived here entirely alone since the Duke's death?'
'Quite alone. But though she doesn't receive company herself, she
likes the village people to enjoy themselves, and often has 'em
here.'
'Kind-hearted, as always!' thought Alwyn.
On reaching the castle he found that the great gates at the
tradesmen's entrance were thrown back against the wall as if they
were never to be closed again; that the passages and rooms in that
wing were brilliantly lighted up, some of the numerous candles
guttering down over the green leaves which decorated them, and upon
the silk dresses of the happy farmers' wives as they passed beneath,
each on her husband's arm. Alwyn found no difficulty in marching in
along with the rest, the castle being Liberty Hall to-night. He
stood unobserved in a corner of the large apartment where dancing
was about to begin.
'Her Grace, though hardly out of mourning, will be sure to come down
and lead off the dance with neighbour Bates,' said one.
'Who is neighbour Bates?' asked Alwyn.
'An old man she respects much--the oldest of her tenant-farmers. He
was seventy-eight his last birthday.'
'Ah, to be sure!' said Alwyn, at his ease.
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