“Let us see first whether there is any one up in the gate-house,” said David Lindsay, as he left the side of the wagon. Then he suddenly stood still gazing. The sombre scene around them had a weird glamour that spell-bound him to the spot. “What place is this?” he muttered to himself. “It is like a place seen in a dream. It might be a place in some other planet, in some dead earth, or extinct sun!” It was an awful scene! Mountains rose on every side, their bases clothed with dark forest. Nearer and dimly visible under the overclouded night sky, towered hideous black rocks, and dark, spectral pine trees that seemed to take goblin shapes in the obscurity. Far back on the right hand, from the midst of these, and scarcely to be distinguished from them, loomed the roof and chimneys of Gryphynshold. The utter silence as of death that reigned over all, added to the gloom, approaching horror, of this stupendous scene. David Lindsay turned from it with a feeling of superstitious awe, to the formidable iron gate in the stone wall that ran along the old park on the right hand of the road. The gate was not locked, but hung heavily upon its strong, rusty hinges, shut by its own weight. On the right of this gate some outlines of an old lodge could be dimly seen among clustering cedar trees. But no light appeared to indicate where door or window might be. “De old ’oman has gone to bed hours ago, most like,” pleasantly remarked the wagoner, as David Lindsay passed through the iron gate and the wild thicket of cedar bushes and rapped at the door of the dark house. “Who is there?” almost immediately inquired a voice from within. “Nobody to hurt yer, ole mist’ess!” shouted Tubal, who was leaning up against a post of the gate, utterly refusing to enter the haunted grounds. “Nobody to hurt yer, ole mist’ess! Yer knows me—Tubal Cummings, from Wolf’s Gap Ferry. I done fotch a young lady and gempleman here what’s come to wisit yer.” There was a sound of movement in the dark house, and presently a light gleamed through the joints of the windows, and soon afterward the door was opened by an elderly woman, who stood on the threshold, bearing a flaming tallow candle high above her head, and exclaiming: “Uncle Tubal! Do you say you have brought visitors here at this place, at this hour of the night? Who are they, and what do they want?” “Dat’s jes’ what dey mus’ ’splain for deirselves, Mist’ess Brent. Yer don’t catch dis ole chile comin’ in dere to tell yer!” exclaimed the man, beating a retreat to the shelter of his wagon. “Tell her precisely who we are, David Lindsay. Tell her the exact truth,” said Gloria, coming to his side. Young Lindsay went up to the housekeeper and Gloria followed closely. They could not see the face of the woman, for the candle she held aloft cast her into deep shadow. “Let me introduce myself and this young lady, madam——” “Who are you, then?” abruptly interrupted the housekeeper.