forward in the moonlight, the woman a little in advance of the man.
What was he saying to her? Why was he so anxious that not a word of it
should be heard? Our presentiments are sometimes, in certain rare
cases, the faithful prophecy of the future. A vague distrust of that
moonlight meeting stealthily took a hold on my mind. "Will mischief
come of it?" I asked myself as I closed the door and entered the house.

Mischief _did_ come of it. You shall hear how.


CHAPTER IV.

THE BEECHEN STICK.

PERSONS of sensitive, nervous temperament, sleeping for the first time
in a strange house, and in a bed that is new to them, must make up
their minds to pass a wakeful night. My first night at Morwick Farm was
no exception to this rule. The little sleep I had was broken and
disturbed by dreams. Toward six o'clock in the morning, my bed became
unendurable to me. The sun was shining in brightly at the window. I
determined to try the reviving influence of a stroll in the fresh
morning air.

Just as I got out of bed, I heard footsteps and voices under my window.

The footsteps stopped, and the voices became recognizable. I had passed
the night with my window open; I was able, without exciting notice from
below, to look out.

The persons beneath me were Silas Meadowcroft, John Jago, and three