For the downfall of this family, as of very many others, had been chiefly caused by unwise marriage.
Instead of choosing sensible and active wives to look after their home affairs and regulate the household, the Carnes for several generations now had wedded flighty ladies of good birth and pretty manners, none of whom brought them a pipkinful of money, while all helped to spend a potful.

Therefore their descendant was now living in the kitchens, and had no idea how to make use of them, in spite of his French education; of comfort also he had not much idea, which was all the better for him; and he scarcely knew what it was to earn and enjoy soft quietude.
One night, when the summer was in full prime, and the weather almost blameless, this young Squire Carne rode slowly back from Springhaven to his worn-out castle.

The beauty of the night had kept him back, for he hated to meet people on the road.

The lingering gossips, the tired fagot-bearers, the youths going home from the hay-rick, the man with a gun who knows where the hares play, and beyond them all the truant sweethearts, who cannot have enough of one another, and wish "good-night" at every corner of the lane, till they tumble over one another's cottage steps--all these to Caryl Carne were a smell to be avoided, an eyesore to shut the eyes at.

He let them get home and pull their boots off, and set the frying-pan a-bubbling--for they ended the day with a bit of bacon, whenever they could cash or credit it--and then he set forth upon his lonely ride, striking fear into the heart of any bad child that lay awake.
"Almost as good as France is this," he muttered in French, though for once enjoying the pleasure of good English air; "and better than France would it be, if only it were not cut short so suddenly.