They opened the rickety gate softly, and then stole into the doorway. Then grasping the rapper, the Major lifted it and rapped hard several times. Then smilingly, with dancing expectant eyes, they stood back and awaited. What a joyful greeting, they thought. But there was no answer, nor even the shadow of a sound that greeted their own echoes. "You try, Ande, lad." Ande advanced to the door and rapped, but the same death-like silence prevailed. "Something wrong," said the old Major. "Ah! what's that writing?" His keen eyes, sharpened by years of woodcraft, had caught the glimpse of a paper tacked to the upper portion of the door. In the happy anticipation of coming reunion they had not noticed it before. Ande tore it from its fastenings and brought it forth more closely to their vision. "For rent,--James Lanyan," slowly read Ande. "Some cursed doings of the Lanyans," said the old man weakly, and he sat down on the steps, for in his disappointment his strength began to fail him. Just at this moment a lad was seen passing, and Ande accosted him. "Mrs. Trembath? Why--her's gone nigh two years ago. Sir James Lanyan got the place and sold her out." "Where did she go, lad?" asked the Major, faintly. "No one knows that, sir." The old man buried his face in his hands. His spirit, so cheery a short time before, seemed broken. "Are the Vivians still here?" asked Ande, sharply, for there was an angry passion raging within him. "Old squire died a year or so ago. The Lanyans got the Manor, and some says as how the old squire died of a broken heart, sir." "And Mistress Alice?" "Her's gone, too; no one knows where; the Lanyans turned 'er out." "The black-hearted villain! Thief! Rogue!" roared Ande, his passion bursting forth beyond all bounds. The lad fled in affright at the dreadful words and the black countenance, that was in truth diabolical with rage. The old Major sought to calm him, but of little avail. "For all that the Lanyans have done to me and mine, the dishonourable scandal on our name, the suffering and humilation it has caused us, and these last cruel and inhuman deeds, I will be terribly revenged on him and his!" Ande Trembath raised his hand to heaven and continued his invective. The hatred of a lifetime seemed to culminate in a torrent of expressions like these. Then there was silence. "We'll go and see Parson Trant at the rectory, father," said Ande, and the old Major, seemingly with no resolution of his own, was assisted to his feet, and on they trudged. The glimmering twilight had merged into dawn, yet there was a light in the parson's study window and his head, now thoroughly silvered, could be seen bending over his manuscript. The short walk seemed to revive the Major's spirits. They knocked and were admitted. The old parson knew neither of them for a moment. Then Ande spoke. "What! Parson Trant, and do you not remember me, Ande Trembath?"