Sir Carte came as quick as thunder after lightning. He was immediately
struck with Hauteville, particularly with its capabilities. It was a
superb place, certainly, and might be rendered unrivalled. The situation
seemed made for the pure Gothic. The left wing should decidedly be
pulled down, and its site occupied by a Knight's hall; the old terrace
should be restored; the donjon keep should be raised, and a gallery,
three hundred feet long, thrown through the body of the castle.
Estimates, estimates, estimates! But the time? This was a greater point
than the expense. Wonders should be done. There were now five hundred
men working for Hauteville House; there should be a thousand for
Hauteville Castle. Carte Blanche, Carte Blanche, Carte Blanche!
On his arrival in Yorkshire the Duke had learnt that the Dacres were
in Norfolk on a visit. As the Castle was some miles off, he saw no
necessity to make a useless exertion, and so he sent his jaeger with his
card. He had now been ten days in his native county. It was dull, and he
was restless. He missed the excitement of perpetual admiration, and his
eye drooped for constant glitter.
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