over a wall smothered in brambles, and got into the garden. A
few lean hydrangeas and geraniums pined in the flower-beds, and
the ancient house looked down on them indifferently. Its garden
side was plainer and severer than the other: the long granite
front, with its few windows and steep roof, looked like a
fortress-prison. I walked around the farther wing, went up some
disjointed steps, and entered the deep twilight of a narrow and
incredibly old box-walk. The walk was just wide enough for one
person to slip through, and its branches met overhead. It was
like the ghost of a box-walk, its lustrous green all turning to
the shadowy greyness of the avenues. I walked on and on, the
branches hitting me in the face and springing back with a dry
rattle; and at length I came out on the grassy top of the chemin
de ronde. I walked along it to the gate-tower, looking down into
the court, which was just below me. Not a human being was in
sight; and neither were the dogs. I found a flight of steps in
the thickness of the wall and went down them; and when I emerged
again into the court, there stood the circle of dogs, the golden-
brown one a little ahead of the others, the black greyhound
shivering in the rear.

"Oh, hang it--you uncomfortable beasts, you!" I exclaimed, my
voice startling me with a sudden echo. The dogs stood
motionless, watching me. I knew by this time that they would not
try to prevent my approaching the house, and the knowledge left
me free to examine them. I had a feeling that they must be
horribly cowed to be so silent and inert. Yet they did not look
hungry or ill-treated. Their coats were smooth and they were not
thin, except the shivering greyhound. It was more as if they had
lived a long time with people who never spoke to them or looked