It was while they were tarrying at the little hotel of the “Hereward Arms,” and making daily excursions in a boat across the lake to the isle and to the ruins, that the stupendous idea of restoring the castle occurred to the duke’s mind—­and not only restoring it as it had stood centuries before, a great, impregnable Highland fortress, but by bringing all the architectural and engineering art and skill of the nineteenth century to bear upon the subject, transforming the ruined castle and rocky isle and mountain-bound lake into the earthly paradise and century’s wonder it afterwards became.

What vast means were used, what fortunes were sacrificed, what treasures were drawn into the maelstrom of this mad enterprise, has already been shown.

It is probable, however, that the duke would not have thrown himself so insanely into this work had it not seemed a means of escaping the torture of his own thoughts.

He could restore the old Highland stronghold, and transform the barren, water-girt rock into a garden of Eden; but he could not restore the rights of his own disinherited son.

He had consulted some among the most eminent lawyers in England, putting the case suppositiously, or as the case of another father and son, and the unanimous opinion given was that there could be no help for such a case as theirs; and even though the father had had no other heir, he could not reclaim this disinherited one.

It was not with unmingled regret that the duke heard this opinion given.  It certainly relieved him from the fearful duty of having to oppose the duchess and all her family, as he would have been obliged to do, had it been possible to restore his eldest son to his rights; for the duchess would not have stood by quietly and seen her son set aside in favor of the elder brother.

The duke spoke of his ward from time to time, so that in case the duchess should ever meet him, or hear of him from others, she could not regard him as a mystery that had been concealed from her, or look upon his likeness to the family with suspicion.

But the duchess seemed perfectly indifferent to the duke’s ward, or if she did interest herself, it was only slightly or good-naturedly, as when she answered the duke’s remarks, one day, by saying: 

“If the dear boy is a relative of the family, however distant, and your ward besides, why don’t you have him home for the holidays?”

“Oh, schoolboys at home for the holidays are always a nuisance.  He will go to Wales with Simpson and his lads, when they go for their short vacation,” answered the duke, not unpleased that his wife took kindly to the notion of his ward.

In due time the youth entered Oxford.  The duke spoke of the fact to the duchess.  Then she answered not so good-humoredly as before; indeed, there was a shade of annoyance and anxiety in her tones, as she said: 

“Oxford is very expensive, and a young man may make it quite ruinous.  I hope the youth’s friends have left him means enough of his own.  I would not speak of such a matter,” she added apologetically, “only the restoration of Lone seems so to swallow up all our resources as to leave us nothing for charitable objects.”