The Wooden Hand by Fergus Hume

There was great excitement when the inquest was held on the remains of Mr. Strode. Although he belonged to the old family of the neighbourhood, and should have lived in the manor as the lord of the village, he had been absent from Wargrove for so long, that few people were well acquainted with him. Some ancient villagers remembered him as a gay, sky-larking young man, when with Mr. Hill the two had played pranks during vacation. Then came the death of the old squire and the sale of the manor by his son. At times Strode had come to Wargrove with his wife, and at Misery Castle Eva had been born. But he usually stopped only a short time, as the slow life of the country wearied his restless spirit. But always, when he came to his old haunts, he went to look at the home of his race. Every one knew that it was his desire to be Strode of Wargrove again, in fact as well as in name.

Many people remembered him when he came to Wargrove for the last time, to place his wife and daughter under the roof of Mrs. Merry. Strode had always been stiff and cold in manner, but, being of the old stock, this behaviour was esteemed right, as no lord of the soil should be too familiar, the wiseacres thought. "A proud, haughty gentleman," said some, "but then he's a right to be proud. Ain't the Strodes been here since the Conquest? 'Tis a wonder he took up with that Mr. Hill, whose father was but a stockbroker."