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She smiled wistfully and said she would be charmed to do so if she were not too feeble with age when the time came to start. Consumed with a desire to acquaint herself with her surroundings, she begged her companions to take her over the castle from turret to cellar. Later in the day, with Turk carrying the lantern, she was eagerly taking notes in the vast, spooky caves of Craneycrow.
"Gentlemen, as the host in Castle Craneycrow, I invite you to witness the marriage ceremony which is to make it impossible for you to take Dorothy Garrison to Brussels. You have come, gentlemen a trifle noisily and unkindly, I admit just in time to witness the wedding of my two very good friends who eloped with the sound of wedding bells in their ears. Father Bivot, the bride and groom await you."
That person asked me if Lord Robert Saxondale owned a place in the valley, and I said that his lordship dwelt in Castle Craneycrow. The men were very curious, and a tall Italian whispered questions to the officer, who put them to me roughly. There was no harm in telling them that his lordship was here with a party of friends " "Good Lord!" gasped Dickey, despairingly.
Turk was the general who planned the return to the castle. He insisted that Quentin, who was very weak, take Miss Garrison upon the horse's back and ride, while he and Savage walked. In this way they reached the gates of Craneycrow. It was like the home-coming of loved ones who had been absent for years. Three women were in tears, and all of the men were in smiles.
He was briskly pacing the stone-paved inclosure, smoking his pipe and basking in the sunshine that had never penetrated to the horrors of Castle Craneycrow. Lord Bob was serenely lounging on a broad oaken bench, his back to the sun, reading from some musty-backed book. "Oh, won't you let me go out in the sun for just a little while?" she cried, imploringly.
"If you do marry her, Quentin, I've got just the place for you to live in, for a while at least. I bought an old castle in Luxemburg a couple of years ago, just because the man who owned it was a friend and needed a few thousand pounds. Frances calls it Castle Craneycrow. It's a romantic place, and would be a great deal better than a cottage for love. You may have it whenever the time comes.
"Lady Jane the young lady on your left, an' may it please you, Miss," said Dickey. "Bob couldn't think of a name for the old thing, so he commissioned me. Isn't Craneycrow delightful? Crane that's a bird, you know, and crow is another bird, too, you know; isn't it a joy? I'm so proud of it," cried Lady Jane, as she scurried up the narrow, winding stone steps that led to the top of the tower.
"It is Craneycrow!" gasped the man, leaning dizzily against the shaft of the trap. She could only look at him in mute consternation. It was Craneycrow, beyond all doubt, but what supernatural power had transferred it bodily from the squarrose hill on which it had stood for centuries, to the spot it now occupied, grim and almost grinning? "Is this a dream, Dorothy? Are we really back again?"
The newspapers which Turk brought from Brussels to Castle Craneycrow contained accounts of the murder of the beautiful woman, speculated wildly as to her idenity and termed the transaction a mystery as unsolvable as the great abduction.
Isn't that a jolly old name?" "Chick o' me, Chick o' me, Craneycrow, Went to the well to wash her toe, When she got back her chicken was dead chick o' me, Chick o' me, chop off his head What time is it, old witch?" "Who gave the castle such an odd, uncanny name?" asked Dorothy, under the spell of their blithesome spirits.
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