only to the rear end of the house, where a wide stretch of gently
undulating ground opens at once upon the eye, suggesting to all lovers of
golf the admirable use to which it is put from early spring to latest
fall. Now, links, as well as parterres and driveways, are lying under an
even blanket of winter snow, and even the building, with its picturesque
gables and rows of be-diamonded windows, is well-nigh indistinguishable
in the shadows cast by the heavy pines, which soar above it and twist
their limbs over its roof and about its forsaken corners, with a moan and
a whisper always desolate to the sensitive ear, but from this night on,
simply appalling.

No other building stood within a half-mile in any direction. It was
veritably a country club, gay and full of life in the season, but
isolated and lonesome beyond description after winter had set in and
buried flower and leaf under a wide waste of untrodden snow.

I felt this isolation as I stepped from the edge of the trees and
prepared to cross the few feet of open space leading to the main door.
The sudden darkness instantly enveloping me, as the clouds, whose
advancing mass I had been watching, made their final rush upon the moon,
added its physical shock to this inner sense of desolation, and, in some
moods, I should have paused and thought twice before attempting the door,
behind which lurked the unknown with its naturally accompanying
suggestion of peril. But rage and disappointment, working hotly within
me, had left no space for fear. Rather rejoicing in the doubtfulness of
the adventure, I pushed my way over the snow until my feet struck the
steps. Here, instinct caused me to stop and glance quickly up and down
the building either way. Not a gleam of light met my eye from the
smallest scintillating pane. Was the house as soundless as it was dark?