As soon as her father had gone, Ida rose and suggested that if Colonel Quaritch had done his wine they should go into the drawing-room, which they accordingly did.  This room was much more modern than either the vestibule or the dining-room, and had an air and flavour of nineteenth century young lady about it.  There were the little tables, the draperies, the photograph frames, and all the hundred and one knick-knacks and odds and ends by means of which a lady of taste makes a chamber lovely in the eyes of brutal man.  It was a very pleasant place to look upon, this drawing-room at Honham Castle, with its irregular recesses, its somewhat faded colours illuminated by the soft light of a shaded lamp, and its general air of feminine dominion.  Harold Quaritch was a man who had seen much of the world, but who had not seen very much of drawing-rooms, or, indeed, of ladies at large.  They had not come in his way, or if they did come in his way he had avoided them.  Therefore, perhaps, he was the more susceptible to such influences when he was brought within their reach.  Or perchance it was Ida’s gracious presence which threw a charm upon the place that added to its natural attractiveness, as the china bowls of lavender and rose leaves added perfume to the air.  Anyhow, it struck him that he had rarely before seen a room which conveyed to his mind such strong suggestions of refinement and gentle rest.

“What a charming room,” he said, as he entered it.

“I am glad you think so,” answered Ida; “because it is my own territory, and I arrange it.”

“Yes,” he said, “it is easy to see that.”

“Well, would you like to hear the end of the story about Sir James and his treasure?”

“Certainly; it interests me very much.”

“It positively fascinates me,” said Ida with emphasis.

“Listen, and I will tell you.  After they had shot old Sir James they took the Bible off him, but whether or no Colonel Playfair ever sent it to the son in France, is not clear.

“The story is all known historically, and it is certain that, as my father said, he asked that his Bible might be sent, but nothing more.  This son, Sir Edward, never lived to return to England.  After his father’s murder, the estates were seized by the Parliamentary party, and the old Castle, with the exception of the gate towers, razed to the ground, partly for military purposes and partly in the long and determined attempt that was made to discover old Sir James’s treasure, which might, it was thought, have been concealed in some secret chamber in the walls.  But it was all of no use, and Colonel Playfair found that in letting his temper get the better of him and shooting Sir James, he had done away with the only chance of finding it that he was ever likely to have, for to all appearance the secret had died with its owner.  There was a great deal of noise about it at the time, and the Colonel was degraded from his rank in reward for what he had done.  It was presumed that old Sir James must have had accomplices in the hiding of so great a mass of gold, and every means was taken, by way of threats and promises of reward—­which at last grew to half of the total amount that should be discovered—­to induce these to come forward if they existed, but without result.  And so the matter went on, till after a few years the quest died away and was forgotten.