“Ugh!” ejaculated Olivia below her breath, hurrying on with angrily averted eyes.
The whole place, seen by the weak light of the rising moon, seemed to her to display the repulsive hideousness of its master.
After this the road wound to the left up the hill, and they passed a few scattered cottages, one of which was the primitive village post office.
“That be t’ parson’s house,” said the boy, as they came in sight of an irregularly built stone house standing high, on the left-hand side of the road, in a well-wooded garden.
They had to go round this garden, and turn sharply to the left into a private road at the top of the hill. This brought them face to face with the gates of the little churchyard, while on the left was the front door of the Vicarage, a pretty building in the Tudor style, which, seen even in the faint moonlight, had a pleasant, welcoming air of comfort, peace, and plenty. Olivia gave the boy his twopence, and rang the bell with a hopeful heart. Everything seemed to promise well for the success of her errand. A neat maid soon came to the door, but to Olivia’s inquiry whether Mrs. Brander were at home came the dispiriting answer that she was away. Miss Denison reflected a moment.
“Is Mr. Brander at home?” she then asked.
“Yes, ma’am, Mr. Vernon Brander is in. Will you see him?”
“Yes, if I can.”
She followed the servant across the wide, well-formed hall, to a door at which the maid knocked.
“Come in,” said a voice, which seemed familiar to Olivia.