“Why, what else do you suppose it is?” he exclaimed. “Can’t you hear it?”
I bent my head and listened. The faint night breeze was just sufficient to carry to our ears the dull, monotonous roar of an incoming tide.
“Not a very cheerful row, is it?” observed Cecil.
“Cheerful! I call it the most infernally miserable sound I ever heard!” growled de Cartienne, from the back seat, “enough to give a fellow the horrors any day!”
“See that bright light close ahead?” said Cecil, pointing with his whip. “That’s Borden Tower, where we hang out, you know. We shall be there in a minute or two.”
“Perhaps!” growled de Cartienne from behind, making a nervous clutch at the side of the trap, “Cis, my dear fellow, you’re not driving a fire-engine, and there’s nothing to be gained by this confounded hurry. George! I was nearly out that time.”
We had turned round a sharp corner into a winding drive, devoid of trees, and planted only with stunted shrubs. On one side, between us and the shore, was a long, irregular plantation of small fir trees, through which the night wind was moaning with a sound not unlike the more distant roar of the sea. Directly in front loomed a high dark building, standing out with almost startling abruptness against a void of sky and moor.
“Here we are!” exclaimed Cecil, pulling up with a flourish before the front entrance. “John, help down the poor, nervous invalid behind, and take Brandy and Soda round to the stable at once. They’re too hot to stand still in this damp air a second.”
We passed across a large but somewhat dreary hall into a warm, comfortable dining-room. A bright fire was blazing in the grate, and a table in the centre of the room was very tastefully laid for dinner.
“Make yourself at home, Morton!” exclaimed Cecil, standing on the hearthrug and stretching out a numbed hand to the blaze. “Draw an easy-chair up to the fire while James unpacks your traps and sees to your room. Leonard, ring the bell, there’s a good fellow, and let them know we’re ready for dinner.”