of burglary or murder; and finally--as a clue to the whole situation
which the popular mind insisted on supplying--that he had committed some
fearful crime, during his years in foreign parts, for which he could not
be brought to justice; but remorse and dread of discovery had affected
his brain, and turned him into a skulking outcast.

Possessed by these simple but interesting ideas, the Pengarth man sharply
noticed, first that the gate of the enclosure was padlocked, Melrose
himself supplying a key from his pocket; next that most of the windows of
the front were shuttered; and lastly--strange and unique fact, according
to his own recollections of the Tower--that two windows on the ground
floor were standing wide open, giving some view of the large room within,
so far as two partially drawn curtains allowed. As Melrose unlocked the
gate, the house door opened, and three huge dogs came bounding out, in
front of a gray-haired man, whom the driver of the wagonette knew to be
"owd Dixon," Melrose's butler and factotum. The driver was watching the
whole scene with an absorbed curiosity, when Melrose turned, threw him a
sudden look, paid him, and peremptorily bade him be off. He had therefore
no time to observe the perturbation of Dixon who was coming with slow
steps to meet his master; nor that a woman in white cap and apron had
appeared behind him on the steps.

* * * * *

Melrose on opening the gate found himself surrounded by his dogs, a fine
mastiff and two young collies. He was trying to drive them off, after a
gruff word to Dixon, when he was suddenly brought to a standstill by the
sight of the woman on the steps.

"D----n it!--whom have you got here?" he said, fiercely perceiving at the