Suddenly, however, as a thought struck him, he turned to look at the windows of the house. They lay in the shade, gloomy and grim, no living person, no light, to be seen in any one of them.
"It is a curious fancy of hers, though," muttered the Captain to himself, as he wheeled round again and went on his way.
The Denisons--or Denzons, as they used formerly to spell their name--were one of the oldest families in that part of Norfolk in which Heron Dyke was situated. They could trace back their descent in a direct line as far as the reign of Henry the Third, but beyond that their pedigree was lost in the mists of antiquity. Who was the first member of the family that settled at Heron Dyke, and how he came by the estate, were moot points which it was hardly likely would ever be satisfactorily cleared up after such a lapse of time. The Denisons had never been more than plain country squires. Several female members of the family had married people of title, but none of the males had ever held anything more than military rank. James the Second had offered a barony to the then head of the family, and the second George a baronetcy to the Squire of that day, but both offers had been respectfully declined.
No family in the county was better known, either by name or reputation, than the Denisons--the "Mad Denisons," as they were often called, and had been called any time these three hundred years. Not that any of them had ever been charged with lunacy, or had been shut up in a madhouse; but they had always been known as an excitable, eccentric race, full of "queer notions," addicted to madcap pranks and daredevil feats, such as seldom failed to astonish and sometimes frighten their quiet neighbours, and had long ago earned for them the unenviable sobriquet mentioned above.
A Gilbert Denison it was who, in the reign of William and Mary, wagered a hundred guineas that on a certain fifth of November he would have a bigger bonfire than his near friend and neighbour, Colonel Duxberry. A bigger bonfire he certainly had, for with his own hand he fired three of the largest hayricks on the farm, and so won the wager.
A later Squire Denison it was who, when his father died and he should have come into the estate, was nowhere to be found, and did not turn up till two years afterwards. He had quarrelled with his parents and run away from home; and he was ultimately found earning his living as bare-back rider in a country circus. He it was who, when his friend the clown called upon him a year or two later to beg the loan of a sovereign, dressed the man up in one of his own suits and introduced him to his guests at table as a distinguished traveller just returned from the East. Old Lord Fosdyke, who sat next the clown at dinner and was much taken with him, made a terrible to-do when he was told of the hoax that had been played off upon him: ever afterwards he refused to speak or recognise Mr. Denison in any way.