"Really, there's a conspiracy of Brydones to waylay us this afternoon," Guy exclaimed, petulantly. "We shall have to go through the Abbey grounds."
Pauline had passed the wicket, which he had impulsively flung open, before she realized the violation of one of her age-long rules.
"It's really rather jolly in here to-day," said Guy. "I think we're duffers not to come more often, you know."
The Autumn wind was booming round the plantation and sweeping up the broad path down the hillside with a skelter of leaves that gave a wild gaiety to the usually tristful scene.
"Why shouldn't we explore inside?" suggested Guy. "There's something so exhilarating about this great west wind. Almost one could fancy it might blow away that ghost of a house."
Pauline hesitated; since earliest childhood the Abbey had oppressed her with ill omen, and she could not overcome her prejudice in a moment.
"You're not really afraid when you're with me?" he persisted.
Pauline surrendered, and they went across the etiolated lawn towards the entrance. The wind was roaring through every crevice, and the ivy was scratching restlessly at the panes or shivering where through the gaps it had crept in with furry tendrils.
"It's rather fun to be walking up this staircase as if this were our own house," said Guy.
Pauline had an impulse to go back, and she made a quick step to descend.