“Then, considering what a narrow escape we’ve had,” Trevelyan continued, “I hope you won’t mind our having trespassed.”
At the last word a smile dawned on the grim face of the master of the house. “I fancy you are the first people who have ever succeeded in trespassing here,” he said.
“I should think so!” cried Lady Dorothy. “We saw your wall.”
They were beginning to think it strange that they were not asked to come in, and Trevelyan was a trifle impatient. “Should you mind very much if we came in and dried ourselves a bit?” he asked. “The ladies are soaking.”
“And I am very sorry to bother you,” added Dorothy, “but really we are starving. We had to throw all our eatables overboard as ballast, you see.”
The master of the house did not answer at once, and seemed absorbed in his reflections. He thoughtfully stroked his long upper lip. “By all means,” he said at last, very slowly. “Of course! Come in, and make yourselves as comfortable as you can.”
The vestibule in which this conversation had taken place opened upon a hall of moderate size and plainly furnished, where a coal fire was burning brightly. The host drew aside to let them pass in, and they began to warm themselves. He looked up, apparently in some inexplicable perplexity.
“Where have you come from?” he asked.
“From London,” Trevelyan answered. “Is there any way of going back to-night? By-the-bye, where are we?”
“You’re in Yorkshire, and the nearest station is Hamley, six miles from here.”