At three o'clock we were in the train which was to convey us to our destination.
[CHAPTER XLVIII.]
SOPHY ENTERS DR. PETERSSEN'S ESTABLISHMENT AS A FRIENDLY PATIENT.
Having engaged comfortable quarters at the Bell and Horns, Nutford, we had a tea-dinner, and started to walk to Sheldon. It was a fine night, and Sophy distinguished herself as a pedestrian; the four-mile walk was accomplished in an hour and twenty minutes by the watch. The one narrow street of which the village could boast was still and quiet; not a soul was to be seen in it.
"After seven o'clock at night," said Bob, "place like a churchyard. Sleepy Hollow a paradise compared to it."
There was something inexpressibly depressing in the aspect of the street; the two or three poor shops were closed, and neither in them nor in the cottages was there a sign of life. The suggestion of a grave came to my mind.
"Remember Eden?" asked Bob, who was in the best of spirits. "Mark Tapley would have grown fat here."
At the end of the street we crossed a common, and then traversed an avenue of mournful trees, bounded by a stone wall.
"The outskirts of Tylney House," said Bob, with the air of a professional guide. "House can't be seen from this point. Nor from any point in particular. Lies in a valley. Observe the jagged glass at top of wall. Just here there's a bare spot. Think you could climb over it, Sophy, otherwise Maria?"
"Git over it like a bird," said Sophy. The conversation was carried on in low tones, Sophy's voice being sepulchral, in view of the part of the dumb patient she was presently to enact.