"The Squire never sees anybody at this time o' night. You had better come in the morning, Captain."
"I cannot come in the morning. I have a message for Mr. Denison from his niece, Miss Winter."
"Why couldn't you say so at first?" grumbled the old man. He seemed to hesitate for a moment or two; then he turned on his heel and went slowly away down the echoing corridor; a distant door was heard to shut, and after that all was silence again.
Captain Lennox turned away and whistled a few bars under his breath. The night was cloudy, and few stars were visible. Here and there one of the huge clumps of evergreens, in front of the house, was dimly discernible; and against the background of clouded sky, the black outlines of the seven tall poplars, that stood on the opposite side of the lawn, were clearly defined. A brooding quiet seemed to rest over the whole place, except that every now and then, borne from afar, came the sound of a faint murmurous monotone, at once plaintive and soothing. It was the voice of the incoming tide, as it washed softly up the distant sands.
Captain Lennox shivered, although the night was warm and oppressive. "What a dismal place!" was his thought. "I Would far sooner live in my own pretty little cottage than in this big, rambling, draughty, haunted old house--and it has a haunted look, if house ever had--and it is, if all tales are true. What was that?" he asked himself, with a start. It seemed to him that he had heard the sound of stealthy footsteps behind him. His fingers tightened on his cane, and he peered cautiously around: but nothing was to be seen or heard. Again came the noise of a far-off door, and again the sound of slow, heavy footsteps across the stone-floor of the hall. Next minute the chain was unloosed, and the great door opened a few inches wider. Then was the rugged face and bent form of old Aaron Stone discernible, as he cautiously held the door with one hand, while the other held a lighted lantern.
"You may come in," he said, in ungracious accents. "As you have brought a message from Miss Ella, the Squire will see you; but it's gone nine o'clock, Captain, and he never likes to be kept up past his time--ten."
Captain Lennox stepped inside, and the door behind him was rebolted and chained. The dim light from the lantern flung fantastic shadows on wall and ceiling as Aaron went slowly along, but left other things in semi-darkness. At the end of a passage leading from the opposite side of the hall was a door, which the old man opened with a pass-key, and they turned to the right along a narrower passage, into which several rooms opened. At one of these doors Aaron halted, opened it, and announced Captain Lennox.
The room into which Lennox was ushered, after leaving his handbag and cane outside, was a large apartment, with a sort of sombre stateliness about it which might be imposing, but which was certainly anything but cheerful. Cheerful, indeed, on the brightest day in summer it was hardly possible that this room could be. Its panelled walls were black with age. Here and there a family portrait, dim and faded, and incrusted with the accumulated grime of generations, stared out at you with ghostly eyes from the more ghostly depths of blackness behind it. Whatever colour the ceiling might once have been, it was now one dull pervading hue of dingy brown. Two or three Indian rugs on the floor; a bureau carved with leaves and flowers, from the midst of which queer faces peeped out; two or three tables with twisted legs; an Oriental jar or two, and a few straight-backed chairs, formed, with two exceptions, the sole furniture of the room. The windows were high and narrow, and three in number. They were filled with small lozenge-shaped panes of thick greenish glass, set in lead; through which even the brightest summer sunlight penetrated with a chastened lustre, as though it were half afraid to venture inside. It was night now, and in the silver sconces over the chimney-piece, and in the silver candlesticks on one of the tables, some half-dozen wax-candles were alight; but in that big gloomy room their feeble flame seemed to do little more than make darkness visible. High up in the middle window was the family escutcheon in painted glass, and below it a scroll with the family motto: What I have, I hold.
The two exceptions in question were these: a high screen of dark stamped leather, the figures on which, originally gilt, showed nothing more than a patch here and there of their whilom lustre; and a huge chair, which was also covered with the same dark leather. In this chair was seated the Master of Heron Dyke. The screen was drawn up behind him, and although the evening was close on midsummer, in the big open fireplace, in front of which he was sitting, the stump of a tree was slowly burning; crackling and sputtering noisily every now and then, as though defying till the last the flames that were gradually eating it away.
Gilbert Denison sat in this huge leather chair, propped up with cushions, his legs and feet covered with a bear-skin. The reader at first might hardly have believed him to be the fine young fellow he saw in London, sitting by his uncle's death-bed, Gilbert the elder. But forty-five years suffice to change all of us. He was a very tall, lean, gaunt old man now: so lean, indeed, that there seemed to be little more of him than skin and bone. His head was covered with a black velvet skull-cap, underneath which his long white hair straggled almost on his shoulders. He had bold, clearly-cut features, and must, at one time, have been a man of striking appearance. His cheeks had now fallen in, and his long, straight nose looked pinched and sharp. His white eyebrows were thick and heavy, but the eyes below them gleamed out with a strange, keen, crafty sort of intelligence, that was hardly pleasant to see in one so old. He was clad, this evening, in a dressing-gown of thick grey duffel, from the sleeves of which protruded two bony hands, their long fingers just now clutching the arms of the easy-chair as though they never meant to loosen their hold again. Finally, on one lean, yellow finger gleamed a splendid cat's-eye ring, set with brilliants.