“How does it feel, old man” asked Will at last, “standing on ramparts where your ancestors once ruled the roost?”

“Stranger than perhaps you think,” Monty answered, not looking to right or left, or downward, but away out in front of him toward the sky-line on top of the opposite hills.

“I bet I know,” said Will.  “You hate to see the old order passing.  You’d like the old times back.”

“You’re wrong for once, America!” Monty turned his back on the parapet and the view, and with hands thrust deep down in his pockets sought for words that could explain a little of his inner man.  Fred had perhaps seen that mood before, but none of the rest of us.  Usually he would talk of anything except his feelings.  He felt the difficulty now, and checked.

“How so?” demanded Will.

“I’ve watched the old order passing.  I’m part of it.  I’m passing, too.”

Gloria watched him with melting eyes.  Fred turned his back and went through the fruitless rigmarole of trying to appear indifferent, going to the usual length at last of humming through his nose.

“That’s what I said.  You’d like these castle days back again.”

“You’re wrong, Will.  I pray they never may come back.  The place is an anachronism.  So am I!—­useless for most modern purposes.  You’d have to tear castle or me so to pieces that we’d be unrecognizable.  The world is going forward, and I’m glad of it.  It shall have no hindrance at my hands.”

“If men were all like you—­” began Gloria, but he checked her with a frown.

“You can call this castle a robbers’ nest, if you like.  It’s easy to call names.  It stood for the best men knew in those days—­protection of the countryside, such law and order as men understood, and the open road.  It was built primarily to keep the roads safe.  There are lots of things in England and America to-day, Will, that your descendants (being fools) will sneer at, just as it’s the fashion to-day to sneer at relics of the past like this—­and me!”

“Who’s sneering?  Not I!  Not we!”

“This castle was built for the sake of the countryside.  I’ve a mind to see it end as it began—­that’s all.”

“Aw—­what’s eating you, Monty?”

“Shut up croaking, you old raven!” grumbled Fred.

“Show us the view you promised.  This isn’t it, for there isn’t a Turk in sight.”

Monty knew better than mistake Fred’s surliness for anything but friendship in distress.  Without another word he led the way along the parapet toward a ragged tower at the southern corner.  It had been built by Normans, evidently added to the earlier Roman wall.

“Now tell me if the old folk didn’t know their business,” said Monty.  “Very careful, all!  The steps inside are rough.  The roof has fallen in, and the ragged upper edge that’s left probably accounts for the castle remaining undetected from below all these years—­looks like fangs of discolored rock.”