"The Maze," she repeated, thinking the name had an odd sound. "Do you mean that it is a house, boy?--a dwelling place?"
"It be that, 'um, sure enough. Old Mr. Throcton used to live in't Folks said he was crazy."
"Why is it called the Maze!"
"It is a maze," said the boy, patting his dog, which had at length regained its liberty. "See that there path, 'um"--pointing to the one close within the gate--"and see them there trees ayont it?"
Miss Blake looked through the interstices of the gate at the trees beyond the path. They extended on all sides farther than she could see. Thick, clustering trees, and shrubs full of leafy verdure, with what looked like innumerable paths amidst them.
"That's the maze," said the boy, "and the place is called after it. Once get among them there trees, 'um, and you'd never get out again without the clue. The house is in the middle on't; a space cleared out, with a goodish big garden and grass-plat. I've been in three or four times when old Mr. Throcton lived there."
"Did you get in through the maze?" asked Miss Blake.
"Yes, 'um; there ain't no other way. 'Twere always along of mother; she knowed the housekeeper. The man servant he'd take us through the trees all roundabout and bring us out again."
"Where does this path lead to?" was the next question, speaking of the one inside between the labyrinth and the gate.
"He goes round and round and round again," was the lucid answer. "I've heard say that a door in it leads right to the house, 'um, but nobody can find the door save them that know it."