he borders, in the ill-kept turf, and
in the broken windows that were incongruously patched with paper or
stuffed with rags. A thicket of trees, mostly evergreen, fenced the
place round and secluded it from the eyes of prying neighbours. As I
came in view of it, on that melancholy winter's morning, in the deluge
of the falling rain, and with the wind that now rose in occasional gusts
and hooted over the old chimneys, the cart had already drawn up at the
front-door steps, and the driver was already in earnest discourse with
Mr. Burchell Fenn. He was standing with his hands behind his back--a man
of a gross, misbegotten face and body, dewlapped like a bull and red as
a harvest moon; and in his jockey-cap, blue coat and top-boots, he had
much the air of a good, solid tenant-farmer.

The pair continued to speak as I came up the approach, but received me
at last in a sort of goggling silence. I had my hat in my hand.

"I have the pleasure of addressing Mr. Burchell Fenn?" said I.

"The same, sir," replied Mr. Fenn, taking off his jockey-cap in answer
to my civility, but with the distant look and the tardy movements of one
who continues to think of something else. "And who may you be?" he
asked.

"I shall tell you afterwards," said I. "Suffice it, in the meantime,
that I come on business."

He seemed to digest my answer laboriously, his mouth gaping, his little
eyes never straying from my face.

"Suffer me to point out to you, sir," I resumed, "that this is a devil
of a wet morning; and that the chimney corner, and possibly a glass of
something hot, are clearly indicated."

Indeed, the rain was now grown to be a deluge; the gutters of the house
roared; the air was filled with the continuous, strident crash. The
stolidity of his face, on which the rain streamed, was far from
reassuring me. On the contrary, I was aware of a distinct qualm of
apprehension, which was not at all lessened by a view of the driver,
craning from his perch to observe us with the expression of a fascinated
bird. So we stood silent, when the prisoner again began to sneeze from
the body of the cart; and at the sound, prompt as a transformation, the
driver had whipped up his horses and was shambling off round the corner
of the house, and Mr. Fenn, recovering his wits with a gulp, had turned
to the door behind him.

"Come in, come in, sir," he said. "I beg your pardon, sir; the lock goes
a trifle hard."

Indeed, it took him a surprising time to o