Beyond the stile the path ran across a piece of meadow land; thence through a hardwood grove, rising gently to a little plateau upon which the mansion was situated. The house was of the Georgian period with the usual pretentious portico; it seemed badly out of repair and was surrounded by unkempt lawns, paddocks, and gardens. I saw that the path would lead me within a comparatively short distance of the house, and I rather sympathized with the owner's resentment at the invasion of his privacy under cover of law. Yet I must go on, and I quickened my pace so as to get out of sight of the house as quickly as possible. A powerfully built young man came around the corner of what, in its day, must have been a very considerable glass-house, and confronted me. Not a pleasant face, with its prominent cheekbones and black V of eyebrows furrowing the low, heavy forehead. "What are you doing on this property?" he demanded with a truculency that made me dislike him instantly and completely. "It's a public right-of-way," I retorted. "We don't admit that," he said hotly. "The case has been appealed; if necessary, we'll carry it to Washington." Well what was I to do? I had no desire to get into a dispute with this rustic boor, and yet it was imperative for me to go on if I were to reach the church in time for the service. Much as I disliked the man I must put myself in the position of asking a favor from him. "I presume that I am addressing Mr. Thaneford?" I began inquiringly. "I'm John Thaneford--what then?" "As you see, I am a stranger here. At the Corners I was told that I could take this short cut and so save time and distance in reaching the church." "Oh, S. Saviour's!" "Yes. I am a relative of the late Mr. Francis Graeme and came this morning from Philadelphia to attend the funeral." John Thaneford looked up sharply, the V of eyebrows narrowing. "I didn't know Graeme had any kin in Philadelphia," he said suspiciously. "Or, for that matter, anywhere." "That may be true so far as the Graeme side of the family is concerned," I rejoined. "My name is Hildebrand." "Hildebrand!" He stared at me even more intently than before, and I fancied that there was a subtle note of dismay in the ejaculation. I determined to follow up the advantage, if advantage it was. "Hugh Hildebrand, to be precise," I continued, eyeing him steadily. "We are of the Northern branch, and since the Civil War there has been little or no intercourse with the family of the 'Hundred.'" "Yet you come to Francis Graeme's funeral. Why?" My temper flashed up. "And what damned business is that of yours, Mr. John Thaneford!" I snapped out. "Am I to pass or not?" For an instant he glowered, and I saw the pupils of his coal-black eyes contract to a pin point. Then he took an evident pull upon himself; he spoke with a marked change of demeanor, almost courteously.