Every window was curtained, and every curtain was down, and the front door was securely fastened.
The young man stood irresolute a moment as he observed this.
“It cannot be that any one lives here,” he muttered; “I am quite sure that this must be the Dale cottage, and yet it looks as if it were inhabited.”
He walked slowly around the veranda, trying to peer in at the side of the curtains as he passed the windows, but not a glimpse of the interior could he obtain.
There was another door at the back of the house.
He tried this also, but it was evidently bolted on the inside, for he could hear the bolt rattle in its socket.
He shook it gently back and forth a few times, in an impatient way, for he was very anxious to know what was behind all those closely drawn curtains, when, to his surprise, the door suddenly yielded and opened.
The iron had rattled from its place.
Stepping within, he found himself in what appeared to be a kitchen, for there was a cooking stove under the mantel; a dresser filled with dishes stood on the east side, and there was a small table, with one or two chairs opposite.
There was a door on his left.