"Here we are!" cried Lady Maria, as the coachman drove into Heron Dyke. "What a commotion the place seems in! What can be going on, I wonder?"
Mr. Denison found himself so comfortable under the old family roof-tree that he let Nunham Priors take care of itself for a while, and stayed on. Before a week had gone over his head, he was projecting no end of improvements: this must be done, and the other must be done: some for embellishment, some for use; and all, of course, for the convenience and benefit of his son and daughter-in-law, who would inhabit the place. Energetic as ever was the old Squire when once he took a thing into his head, Mr. Denison was not content with projecting: he set about doing. Calling Mr. Tiplady to his counsels, and after him a clever builder of reputation, the alterations were begun forthwith. Heron Dyke was, of course, his own, and he could do what he would.
The new conservatory, recently built by Miss Winter, was all very well, but not large enough; it was to be considerably lengthened and widened.
"I don't like walking down a greenhouse, my dear, where the space allowed for the paths is so narrow one's coat-tails must brush the plants on either side," he remarked to Ella.
The kitchens and some other portions of the domestic offices must be rendered more commodious, in accordance with modern requirements. A new road was to be driven through the shrubbery, and the old, narrow, inconvenient road, rarely used, on the side of the house, blocked up and planted over.
On the morning that was to witness the call at the Hall of Lady Maria Skeffington and Philip's wife, the workmen were busy with this last-mentioned work, when Frank Denison came hastily into the room where his father sat, talking to Ella, Mrs. Carlyon, and Mrs. Toynbee. Frank's countenance wore a startled expression, and he looked grave and pale. Ella's thoughts flew to the men: she feared some accident had happened.
"What is it?" she cried, rising from her seat. "Are any of the men hurt?"
"No, no, the men are all right," he answered. Then, after a pause, he held something out to Ella. "Do you chance to know this?" he asked. "Can you tell to whom it belonged?"
It was a small gold locket, dented in on one side and much discoloured, as if it had lain for some time in a damp place. Ella recognised it with staring eyes, and began to tremble with a fear she did not wait to define.