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.
The shock of the fall of Lone was felt from one end of the kingdom to the other.
For the last time a crowd gathered around Castle Lone.

But they came not as festive guests but as a flock of vultures around a carcass, bent on prey.