There could be but little doubt that Merehampton had passed the zenith of its prosperity as a seaport. With the opening of the railway a vital blow had been struck at the shipping interests of the little town. The coasting trade had dwindled by degrees to less than half of what it had been a few years before; some of the merchants and shippers had become bankrupt; others had taken themselves and their capital elsewhere; others, on the principle of half a loaf being better than none, had made the best of what could not be helped; half the warehouses on the Quay-side were untenanted; but through it all the firm of Melray Brothers had held manfully on its way, although in the face of a sorely diminished trade.
James Melray's household was a small one, comprising, as it did, only himself, his mother--a venerable lady between seventy and eighty years of age--who had her own suite of rooms and her own maid and companion, and, lastly, the merchant's girl-wife, who at the time the tragedy took place had been married to him some two and a half years.
Mr. Melray was a widower of some years' standing, but without family, when he first met Denia Lidington, who was the orphan niece and ward of one of his oldest friends. This friend dying, left Denia and her small fortune to his charge till the girl should come of age--a charge which Mr. Melray willingly undertook. How and by what degrees the kindly semi-paternal feeling with which he at first regarded the lonely girl changed to a sentiment of a far different texture is not within the scope of this narrative to describe. It is enough to say that about a year after his friend's death James Melray proposed to Denia Lidington, and, somewhat to his own surprise, was accepted without the slightest demur.
The marriage took place at Solchester, an inland town about a dozen miles from Merehampton, where, after her uncle's death, Denia had found a home in the house of a widowed lady of good family, but limited means, in whom Mr. Melray had implicit confidence. A month later the bride entered upon her new duties as the mistress of Loudwater House.
That she was an exceedingly pretty and attractive-looking young woman everybody was agreed; indeed, there were not wanting some who went so far as to call her beautiful. Her figure was slight, but full of grace, and was rather under the medium height of her sex. She had eyes of the clearest April blue, shaded by heavy lashes, finely-arched eyebrows, and a mass of silky maize-coloured hair. Her complexion was a pure creamy white, with only the very faintest flush of colour showing through it. There was nothing striking or pronounced about her features; indeed, considered in detail, they might have been termed insignificant, but, regarded as a whole, their effect was undeniably charming.