, but it was also decaying. The creepers had
fallen from the walls, the pilasters on the terrace were tumbling down,
lichen and moss were on the doorsteps. Shuttered, silent, abandoned,
it stood like a harsh memento mori of human hopes.

Dickson had never before been affected by an inanimate thing with so
strong a sense of disquiet. He had pictured an old stone tower on a
bright headland; he found instead this raw thing among trees. The
decadence of the brand-new repels as something against nature, and this
new thing was decadent. But there was a mysterious life in it, for
though not a chimney smoked, it seemed to enshrine a personality and to
wear a sinister aura. He felt a lively distaste, which was almost
fear. He wanted to get far away from it as fast as possible. The sun,
now sinking very low, sent up rays which kindled the crests of a group
of firs to the left of the front door.

He had the absurd fancy that they were torches flaming before a bier.

It was well that the two had moved quietly and kept in shadow.
Footsteps fell on their ears, on the path which threaded the lawn just
beyond the sunk-fence. It was the keeper of the West Lodge and he
carried something on his back, but both that and his face were
indistinct in the half-light.

Other footsteps were heard, coming from the other side of the lawn. A
man's shod feet rang on the stone of a flagged path, and from their
irregular fall it was plain that he was lame. The two men met near the
door, and spoke together. Then they separated, and moved one down each
side of the house. To the two watchers they had the air of a patrol,
or of warders pacing the corridors of a prison.

"Let's get out of this," said Dickson, and turned to go.

The air had the curious stillness which precedes the moment of sunset,
when the birds of day have stopped their noises and the sounds of night
have not begun. But suddenly in the silence fell notes of music. They
seemed to come from the house, a voice singing softly but with great
beauty and clearness.

Dickson halted in his steps. The tune, whatever it was, was like a
fresh wind to blow aside his depression. The house no longer looked
sepulchral. He saw that the two men had hurried back from their patrol,
had met and exchanged some message, and made off again as if alarmed by
the music. Then he noticed his companion....

Heritage was on one knee with his face rapt and listening. He got to
his feet and appeared