overgrown with weeds, led from the gate to the front of the
house, which stood facing me. It was built entirely of wood
and consisted of four wings (at least there were no others
visible) evidently enclosing a quadrangular courtyard, the
rear wings being lower than those in front, and hidden by
the latter from the view of one standing at the gate as I
was. It was only at a distance that one could see their
roofs above the enclosure. There was but one line of windows
along the front, but there was an oriel just under the peak
of the main building, and I could see a skylight here and
there upon the roofs.

The blinds were closed and there was no sign of life about
the house--evidently planned with hospitable intentions, but
now silent and forbidding. I tried the gates. They were
locked securely. A screen of closely woven wire rose from
the pavement half way up the iron work. Evidently it would
be impossible to reach the doors without scaling this
barrier, and I was not yet ready to try an expedient so
desperate. Returning to my hotel I wrote a letter to the
master of the house, telling him of my long-continued quest
and of my hopes regarding our possible kinship. Day after
day I anxiously awaited his reply, until a week had passed,
but no word came from him. In passing the house at different
times, however, I observed some signs of life within it--a
blind open that had been closed the day before--a faint
glimmer of light on the trees in the rear of the grounds at
night, which might have come from the back windows. Even
this slight encouragement was gratifying, but as time passed
without bringing any reply to my letter I began to think