small lawn that sloped gently up from the lake. Immediately behind the
house a precipitous hill, covered with a thick growth of underwood and
young trees, swept upward to a considerable height. A narrow, winding
lane, the only carriage approach to the house, wound round the base of
this hill, and joined the high road a quarter of a mile away. The house
was only two stories high, but was large enough to have accommodated a
numerous and well-to-do family. The windows were all set in a framework
of plain stone, but on the lower floor some of them had been modernised,
the small, square, bluish panes having given place to polished plate
glass, of which two panes only were needed for each window. But this was
an innovation that had not spread far. The lawn was bordered with a
tasteful diversity of shrubs and flowers, while here and there the
tender fingers of some climbing plant seemed trying to smoothe away a
wrinkle in the rugged front of the old house.

Captain Ducie walked up the gravelled pathway that led from the lake to
the house, the boatman with his portmanteau bringing up the rear. Before
he could touch either bell or knocker, the door was noiselessly opened,
and a coloured servant, in a suit of plain black, greeted him with a
respectful bow.

"Captain Ducie, sir, if I am not misinformed?"

"I am Captain Ducie."

"Sir, you are expected. Your rooms are ready. Dinner will be served in
half-an-hour from now. My master will meet you when you come
downstairs."

The portmanteau having been brought in, and the boatman paid and