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Perhaps recollections of those pleasant visits with her mother at Norris Castle have helped to render so dear the Queen's own beautiful sea-side home, Osborne House. I remember a pretty little story, told by a tourist, who happened to be stopping at the village of Brading during one of those visits to the lovely island.
"It is a sad, a terrible story," said Brading at last, "but I do not understand. You call Charles Marlowe father; that I know. That he is old before his time, broken by some great sorrow, I have seen, or thought I saw. But, pardon me, you said that you that you " "That I am insane," said the girl, without a movement of head or body.
The harquebus-a-croc, a weapon almost exactly similar, threw small cross-bar shot "to cut Sails and Rigging." In Elizabethan times it was carried in the tops of fighting ships, and on the rails and gunwales of merchantmen. In the reign of Henry VIII., a ship called the Mary Rose, of 500 tons, took part in the battle with the French, in St Helens Roads, off Brading.
"Sure, I don't think you'll ever forget that day," cried Mrs Gilmour, laughing as she explained the matter more lucidly to her brother and sister-in-law. "Just as Queen Mary said that Calais would be found engraved on her heart after she was dead, the Roman villa at Brading will be found graven on yours, Captain, sure!"
"But, Irene, you say please, dear, do not look away from me you say that the child was dead, not demented." "Yes, that one I am the second. I was born three months after that night, my mother being mercifully permitted to lay down her life in giving me mine." Brading was again silent; he was a trifle dazed and could not at once think of the right thing to say. Her face was still turned away.
Brading had risen to detain her; he stood watching her in silence until she had vanished in the gloom. Suddenly he started as if he had been shot; his face took on an expression of amazement and alarm: in one of the black shadows into which she had disappeared he had caught a quick, brief glimpse of shining eyes!
Perhaps in days to come when wheat is once more precious the sea wastes may once more be worth recovery. But even so they are not desirable spots on which to plant a population. They are by natural causes on the way to nowhere, and out of communication with the towns and villages. Brading Harbour, in the Isle of Wight, is an exception, for it ran up inland.
On examination they were seen to be red with blood. An encounter, unarmed, with a wounded panther was not agreeable to their taste; all but Brading turned back. He, with lantern and pistol, pushed courageously forward into the wood. Passing through a difficult undergrowth he came into a small opening, and there his courage had its reward, for there he found the body of his victim.
"Ah, these are something like `Roman remains'!" exclaimed Captain Dresser, when their wherry ultimately glided up to the ruins of Porchester Castle, the base of whose swelling walls was laved by the rippling tide. "That `villa' at Brading was a regular take-in, and I shall always regret that half-crown in hard cash, out of which I was swindled!"
A recent addition to these popular apocrypha, originating, apparently, by spontaneous generation in several households, was of a panther which had frightened some of their members by looking in at windows by night. The yarn had caused its little ripple of excitement had even attained to the distinction of a place in the local newspaper; but Brading had given it no attention.
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