Politicians had equally pointed to it as a convincing evidence of their
own principles and in refutation of each other; and it had survived
both. For it was this belief in its own perpetuity that was its strength
and weakness. And that belief was never stronger than on this bright
August morning, when it was on the verge of dissolution. A telegram
brought to Sir Robert Mainwaring had even then as completely shattered
and disintegrated Oldenhurst, in all it was and all it meant, as if the
brown-paper envelope had been itself charged with the electric fluid.
Sir Robert Mainwaring, whose family had for three centuries possessed
Oldenhurst, had received the news of his financial ruin; and the vast
pile which had survived the repeated invasion of superstition, force,
intrigue, and even progress, had succumbed to a foe its founders and
proprietors had loftily ignored and left to Jews and traders. The
acquisition of money, except by despoilment, gift, royal favor, or
inheritance, had been unknown at Oldenhurst. The present degenerate
custodian of its fortunes, staggering under the weight of its
sentimental mortmain already alluded to, had speculated in order to
keep up its material strength, that was gradually shrinking through
impoverished land and the ruined trade it had despised.
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