to rest. There was the usual highly-varnished arm-chair, expressly
manufactured to test the endurance of the human spine. There was the
usual paper on the walls, of the pattern designed to make your eyes ache
and your head giddy. There were the usual engravings, which humanity
never tires of contemplating. The Royal Portrait, in the first place of
honor. The next greatest of all human beings--the Duke of Wellington--in
the second place of honor. The third greatest of all human beings--the
local member of parliament--in the third place of honor; and a hunting
scene, in the dark. A door opposite the door of admission from the
passage opened into the bedroom; and a window at the side looked out on
the open space in front of the hotel, and commanded a view of the vast
expanse of the Craig Fernie moor, stretching away below the rising
ground on which the house was built.

Anne turned in despair from the view in the room to the view from the
window. Within the last half hour it had changed for the worse. The
clouds had gathered; the sun was hidden; the light on the landscape was
gray and dull. Anne turned from the window, as she had turned from the
room. She was just making the hopeless attempt to rest her weary limbs
on the sofa, when the sound of voices and footsteps in the passage
caught her ear.

Was Geoffrey's voice among them? No.

Were the strangers coming in?

The landlady had declined to let her have the rooms: it was quite
possible that the strangers might be coming to look at them. There was
no knowing who they might be. In the impulse of the moment she flew to
the bedchamber and locked herself in.