Chapter 110

There was at that point a goodly organization of visitors present, which was supposed to twofold its number on the morrow.

In the transitory shortfall of the Baronet we were gotten by his niece, Florrie Wyville, and invested a superb energy as she drove us through the numerous tapestried rooms brimming with inquisitive old furnishings, down cut oak flights of stairs lit by

ministerial looking casements of stained glass, along wide corridors decorated with stags' horns and suits of shield, out on to stone porches dim with age and dull

with ivy.

"Isn't it a beloved spot?" she shouted eagerly when our most memorable visit through investigation was finished. "I have been here just seven days, but then I accept I know more about it even than Uncle Hugh knows. It is in excess of 600 years old, and was initially a cloister."

"Furthermore, for what reason is it called Silverdale?" I inquired.

"There was a silver mine here at one time. I accept some portion of the Monastery stands over a venti