There was no looking back, even. From the brow of the hill the road was down-hill all the way, and he ran, his rubber shoes patting almost noiselessly in the dust. At his inn the bolt yielded to his knife-point's pressure, the well-oiled lock let him in without a murmur, the stairs hardly creaked more than stairs can creak in their dark solitudes when we lie awake and listen to them and wonder. . . . The night was as silent as a thought, and when at last the silence was shattered by the clatter of hoofs and the jangle of harness, Mr. Basingstoke's head turned a little on his pillow, not restlessly. He heard the clanging bell echo in the flagged passage; heard through the plaster walls the heavy awakening of his host, the scrape of a match, the hasty, blundering toilet; heard the big bar dropped from the front door; voices--the groom's voice, the host's voice, the aunt's voice. Then heavy steps on the stairs and a knock at his door. "Very sorry to disturb you, sir," came the muffled tones through the door, almost cringingly apologetic, "but could you get up, sir, just for a minute? Miss Davenant from the Hall wants a word with you--about your dawg, sir, as I understand. If you could oblige, sir--very inconvenient, I know, sir, but the Hall is very highly thought of in the village, sir." "What on earth--?" said Mr. Basingstoke, very loudly, and got out of bed. "I'll dress and come down," he said. He did dress, to the accompaniment of voices below--replaced, that is, the collar, tie, and boots he had taken off--and then he began to pack, his mind busy with the phrases in which he would explain that a house in which these nocturnal disturbances occurred was not fit for the sojourning of. . . . No, hang it all, that would not be fair to the landlord--he must find some other tale. When he had kept the lady waiting as long as he thought a man might have kept her who had really a toilet to make, he went slowly down. Voices sounded in the parlor, and a slab of light from its door lay across the sanded passage. He went in; the landlord went out, closing the door almost too discreetly. Mr. Basingstoke and the aunt looked at each other. She was very upright and wore brown gloves and a brown, boat-shaped hat with an aggressive quill. "You _are_ here, then?" she said. "Where else, madam?" said Mr. Basingstoke. "I should like you," said the aunt, deliberately, "to be somewhere else within the next hour. I will make it worth your while." "Thank you," Edward murmured. "I think I ought to tell you," said she, "that I saw through that business of the dog. He was well trained, I admit. But I can't have my niece annoyed in this way." "The lady must certainly not be annoyed," said Edward, with feeling. "I came to-night to see if you were here. . . ." "It is an unusual hour for a call," said Edward, "but I am proportionally honored." "--to see if you were here, and, if you were, to tell you that my niece is not."