The grinding of wheels, the sharp stroke of horses' hoofs, and the voices of men lessened and died into silence. No sound disturbed the narrow, winding lane which twisted its way now between neglected and forlorn looking fields, presently through woods of larch and pine, again across some deserted piece of common land. One might have followed the lane for hours without meeting a soul, without hearing a human sound beyond the echoes of one's own footsteps sent back from the depth of a copse. For miles it went, turning now this way, now that, until a stranger would wonder whither it was leading him, and speculate whether, at the end, he might not find himself on the same high road which he had left long ago. At one part, for a mile or more, the lane skirted a forest, where, down short vistas, could be seen deeper depths beyond, solemn gloom which might serve to hide in, or might contain lurking danger. Old cart ruts here and there made short incursions into it, their limit marked by a small clearing and a few tree stumps, showing that timber had been brought out; but no such track gave any sign of penetrating far, and offered little temptation to explore. There was a track, however, so casual in its departure from the lane that a stranger would hardly have noticed it, which ran deeply into the forest, losing itself at intervals in a small clearing, but going on again, although anyone but those who had knowledge of it might miss it a score of times, and wander hopelessly amongst tangled undergrowths and into swampy depressions. This track presently crossed a larger clearing, where was a hut set up by charcoal burners long ago. Time had cracked and warped its planks, but pieces had been nailed across weak places, giving the hut a botched and tumble-down appearance but keeping it weather-tight. The hut was divided into a shed for tools and storage, or perhaps for stabling a horse upon occasion, and a larger chamber which served as a dwelling. From a hole in the roof of this part a thin wreath of smoke was curling upwards towards the overhanging trees, losing itself in their foliage. Twilight came early here, and the great world seemed shut out altogether. Presently the door of the hut opened, but he was no charcoal-burner who stood on the threshold, listening and looking up at the sky above the clearing. His hair was white, his figure a little bent, and there was an anxious look upon his face, a permanent expression rather than one caused by any tardy arrival this evening. The man he waited for was too erratic in his goings and comings to make a few hours', or even a day's, delay a cause of wonder. He went back into the hut, but in half an hour or so came to the door again. He was not a woodsman used to distinguishing sounds at a long distance, and the sound that presently reached him was close by. In another moment a man, leading a horse, came out of the gloomy shadows into the clearing.