ower nor the upper windows was
there anywhere a spark of light, nor was there any sound but the
tossing of the branches and the wail of the wind among the chimneys.
Not even a dog barked or rattled a chain, and from no chimney breathed
a wisp of smoke. The house in the gloom of that melancholy evening had
a singular eerie and tenantless look; and oppressive silence reigned
there; and Mitchelbourne was unaccountably conscious of a growing
aversion to it, as to something inimical and sinister.

He had crossed the mouth of a lane, he remembered, just at the first
corner of the wall. The lane ran backwards from the road, parallel
with the side wall of the garden. Mitchelbourne had a strong desire
to ride down that lane and inspect the back of the house before he
crossed the bridge into the garden. He was restrained for a moment by
the thought that such a proceeding must savour of cowardice. But only
for a moment. There had been no doubting the genuine nature of Lance's
fears and those fears were very close to Mr. Mitchelbourne now. They
were feeling like cold fingers about his heart. He was almost in the
icy grip of them.

He turned and rode down the lane until he came to the end of the wall.
A meadow stretched behind the house. Mitchelbourne unfastened the
catch of a gate with his riding whip and entered it. He found himself
upon the edge of a pool, which on the opposite side wetted the house
wall. About the pool some elder trees and elms grew and overhung, and
their boughs tapped like fingers upon the window-panes. Mitchelbourne
was assured that the house was inhabited, since from one of the
windows a strong yellow light blazed, and whenever a sharper gust blew
the branches aside, swept across the face of the pool like a flaw of
wind.

The lighted window was in the lowest storey, and Mitchelbourne, from
the back of his horse, could see into the room. He was mystified
beyond expression by what he saw. A deal table, three wooden chairs,
some ragged curtains drawn back from the window, and a single lamp
made up the furniture. The boards of the floor were bare and unswept;
the paint peeled in strips from the panels of the walls; the
discoloured ceiling was hung with cobwebs; the room in a word matched
the outward aspect of the house in its look of long disuse. Yet it had
occupants. Three men were seated at the table in the scarlet coats and
boots of the King's officers. Their faces, though it was winter-time,
were brown w