lamp or a candle had climbed up the tower stairs and had then returned
into the body of the house.

"Who in the world can it be?" I exclaimed, speaking rather to myself
than to Esther, for I could see by the surprise upon her face that she
had no solution to offer. "Maybe some of the folk from Branksome-Bere
have wanted to look over the place."

My sister shook her head.

"There is not one of them would dare to set foot within the avenue
gates," she said. "Besides, John, the keys are kept by the house-agent
at Wigtown. Were they ever so curious, none of our people could find
their way in"

When I reflected upon the massive door and ponderous shutters which
guarded the lower storey of Cloomber, I could not but admit the force of
my sister's objection. The untimely visitor must either have used
considerable violence in order to force his way in, or he must have
obtained possession of the keys.

Piqued by the little mystery, I pulled for the beach, with the
determination to see for myself who the intruder might be, and what were
his intentions. Leaving my sister at Branksome, and summoning Seth
Jamieson, an old man-o'-war's-man and one of the stoutest of the
fishermen, I set off across the moor with him through the gathering
darkness.

"It hasna a guid name after dark, yon hoose," remarked my companion,
slackening his pace perceptibly as I explained to him the nature of our