It had been the family seat of the Earl of Roxham ever since
the reign of Edward VI.; but, on the Roxham race dying out, some fifty
years before this, had become the property of a certain Mr. Armstrong, a
civilian who had made a great fortune in the East, in an age when great
fortunes were commonly made by East-Indian traders. His only son had
been captain in a crack regiment, and had sold out of the army after his
father's death, in order to marry Lady Laura Challoner, second daughter of
the Earl of Calderwood, a nobleman of ancient lineage and decayed fortunes,
and to begin life as a country gentleman under her wise governance. The
Armstrongs were said to be a very happy couple; and if the master of Hale
Castle was apt to seem something of a cipher in his own house, the house
was an eminently agreeable one, and Lady Laura popular with all classes.
Her husband adored her, and had surrendered his judgment to her guidance
with a most supreme faith in her infallibility. Happily, she exercised her
power with that subtle tact which is the finest gift of woman, and his
worst enemies could scarcely call Frederick Armstrong a henpecked husband.
The spring and early summer brought no change to Clarissa's life. She had
been at home for the greater part of a year, and in all that time one day
had resembled another almost us closely as in the scholastic monotony of
existence at Madame Marot's.
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