"Yes, but I managed to get home all right, as you see. I sought shelter in the old Turnpike House."
Mrs. Marshall, who had seated herself close at hand, started at the words. "The Turnpike House!" she said, anxiously. "Did you go in there."
"Yes, Mrs. Marshall. It was my refuge from the storm."
"Strange!" she murmured, thinking of the crime which had taken place there so many years before--the crime in which the parents of this young man had been concerned. "It has not a good reputation, that house," she added.
Webster fixed his eyes on her. "How is that?" he said.
"Oh, don't you know?" cried Jennie, who had come up to them. "A dreadful murder was committed there! A man was killed, and the house is said to be haunted."
"A man was killed?" repeated Neil, his breath coming quickly. "And who killed him?"
Before Jennie could make reply Mr. Cass, who had been listening uneasily, interposed sharply: "Don't talk of murders, Miss Brawn. The subject is not fit for Christmas. Come and play for Mr. Webster."
"Thank you," the young man said. "I do not think I can play this evening."
There was a murmur of disappointment, but Neil was firm. "I am not very well," he said, wearily. "My nerves again."