or under forest trees, and so might have continued were it not for the
rebuke forcibly administered by the body, which, content with the normal
conditions of life, in no way furthers any attempt on the part of the
mind to alter them. She grew cold, shook herself, rose, and walked
towards the house.

By the light of the stars, Stogdon House looked pale and romantic, and
about twice its natural size. Built by a retired admiral in the early
years of the nineteenth century, the curving bow windows of the front,
now filled with reddish-yellow light, suggested a portly three-decker,
sailing seas where those dolphins and narwhals who disport themselves
upon the edges of old maps were scattered with an impartial hand. A
semicircular flight of shallow steps led to a very large door, which
Katharine had left ajar. She hesitated, cast her eyes over the front of
the house, marked that a light burnt in one small window upon an upper
floor, and pushed the door open. For a moment she stood in the square
hall, among many horned skulls, sallow globes, cracked oil-paintings,
and stuffed owls, hesitating, it seemed, whether she should open the
door on her right, through which the stir of life reached her ears.
Listening for a moment, she heard a sound which decided her, apparently,
not to enter; her uncle, Sir Francis, was playing his nightly game of
whist; it appeared probable that he was losing.

She went up the curving stairway, which represented the one attempt at
ceremony in the otherwise rather dilapidated mansion, and down a narrow
passage until she came to the room whose light she had seen from the
garden. Knocking, she was told to come in. A young man, Henry Otway,
was reading, with his feet on the fender. He had a fine head, the brow
arched in the Elizabethan manner, but the gentle, honest eyes were
rather skeptical than glowing with the Elizabethan vigor. He gave
the impression that he had not yet found the cause which suited his
temperament.

He turned, put down his book, and looked at her. He noticed her rather
pale, dew-drenched look, as of one whose mind is not altogether settled
in the body. He had often laid his difficulties before her, and guessed,
in some ways hoped, that perhaps she now had need of him. At the same
time, she carried on her life with such independence that he scarcely
expected any confidence to be expressed in words.

"You have fled, too, then?" he said, looking at her cloak. Katharine had
forgotte