countryside, now dimmed with the first mists of approaching
evening. So absorbed he became as he stood leaning over the
wooden sill above the falling water, that eye and ear became
enslaved by the roar and stillness. And in the faint atmosphere
of age that seemed like a veil to hang about the odd old house
and these prodigious branches, he fell into a kind of waking
dream.

When at last he did draw back into the room it was perceptibly
darker, and a thin keen shaft of recollection struck across his
mind--the recollection of what he was, and of how he came to be
there, his reasons for coming and of that dark indefinable
presence which like a raven had begun to build its dwelling in
his mind. He sat on, his eyes restlessly wandering, his face
leaning on his hands; and in a while the door opened and Herbert
returned, carrying an old crimson and green teapot and a dish of
hot cakes.

'They're all out,' he said; 'sister, Sallie, and boy; but these
were in the oven, so we won't wait. I hope you haven't been
very much bored.'

Lawford dropped his hands from his face and smiled. 'I have been
looking at the water,' he said.

'My sister's favorite occupation; she sits for hours and hours,
with not even a book for an apology, staring down into the black
old roaring pot. It has a sort of hypnotic effect after a time.
And you'd be surprised how quickly one gets used to the noise. To
me it's even less distracting than sheer silence. You don't know,