Thus, I say, by the sacrifice of the son the peace of the father might have been secured—­for a time.  And all might have gone well at Lone but for one unlucky event which finally set the seal on the ruin of the ducal family.

And yet that event was intended as an honor, and considered as an honor.

In a word the Queen, the Prince Consort, and the royal family, were coming to the Highlands.  And the Duke of Hereward received an intimation that her majesty would stop on her royal progress and honor Lone with a visit of two days.  This was a distinction in no wise to be slighted by any subject under any circumstances, and certainly not by the duke of Hereward.

The Queen’s visit would form the crowning glory of Lone.  The chambers occupied by majesty would henceforth be holy ground, and would be pointed out with reverence to the stranger in all succeeding generations.

In anticipation of this honor the “mad” Duke of Hereward launched out into his maddest extravagances.

He had but ten days in which to prepare for the royal visit, but he made the best use of his time.

The guest chambers at Lone, already fitted up in princely magnificence, had new splendors added to them.  The castle and the grounds were adorned and decorated with lavish expenditure.  The lake was alive with gayly-rigged boats.  Triumphal arches were erected at stated intervals of the drive leading from the public road, across the bridge connecting the shore with the island, and—­maddest extravagance of all—­the ground was laid out and fitted up for a grand tournament after the style of the time of Richard Coeur de Lion, to be held there during the queen’s visit—­that fatal visit spoken of in the early part of this chapter.

Yes, fatal!—­for a hundred thousand pounds sterling, won by the son’s self-sacrifice, which should have gone to satisfy the clamorous creditors of the duke, was squandered in extravagant preparations to royally entertain England’s expensive royal family.

A second time Lone was the scene of unparalleled display, festivity, and rejoicing.  Once more all the country round about was assembled there; again the artists and reporters of the London press were among the crowd; and again full-page pictures of the ceremonies attending the queen’s reception and entertainment were published in the illustrated papers, and the fame of that royal visit went out to the uttermost parts of the earth.

But mark this:  Every footman that waited at the grand state-dinner table was a bailiff in disguise, in charge of the plate and china, which, together with all the fabulous riches of art, literature, science and virtu collected at Lone had been taken in execution, by the officers secretly in possession.

The royal party, with their retinue, left Lone on the afternoon of the third day.

And then the crash came?  The blow was sudden, overwhelming and utterly destructive.