When the man spoke, he advanced as if he was about to pass the young soldier and enter the house. He was walking with a slow, calm, and almost measured stride.
He had, however, gone but a few yards before he halted once more, and turning again toward the young soldier remarked in an indifferent way, "'T is a pretty evening, sir."
Noel was well aware that the evening was being far from "pretty." The darkness still was intense and the dampness which had followed the storm had produced a chill under which the lad was shivering.
Taken aback by the cool assurance of the giant, when the man resumed his walk, he had advanced halfway to the house before Noel again hailed him. "Look here, my friend," he called; "I'm sorry to detain you, but the captain might wish to see you."
"Well?" inquired the giant in a drawling tone.
"Who lives in this house?" demanded Noel.
"I do."
"Is this house frame or brick?"
"I don't know why it concerns you, but it's a frame house, not a brick."
"Are you the owner of this house?"