A great tower shot up from
one corner of it, and a hundred windows twinkled ruddily in the
light of the morning sun. A little distance from it stood a second
small square low-lying structure, with a tall chimney rising from the
midst of it, rolling out a long plume of smoke into the frosty air.
The whole vast structure stood within its own grounds, enclosed by a
stately park wall, and surrounded by what would in time be an extensive
plantation of fir-trees. By the lodge gates a vast pile of _debris_,
with lines of sheds for workmen, and huge heaps of planks from
scaffoldings, all proclaimed that the work had only just been brought to
an end.
Robert McIntyre looked down with curious eyes at the broad-spread
building. It had long been a mystery and a subject of gossip for the
whole country side. Hardly a year had elapsed since the rumour had
first gone about that a millionaire had bought a tract of land,
and that it was his intention to build a country seat upon it. Since
then the work had been pushed on night and day, until now it was
finished to the last detail in a shorter time than it takes to build
many a six-roomed cottage. Every morning two long special trains had
arrived from Birmingham, carrying down a great army of labourers, who
were relieved in the evening by a fresh gang, who carried on their task
under the rays of twelve enormous electric lights.
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