It was a lovely afternoon, the air hot, and the shadows of the trees dark upon the green grass. The clear sun was shining sideways on the little oriel window of one of the rooms in which my labour awaited me. Never have I seen a picture of more stately repose than the huge pile of building presented, while the curious vane on the central square tower glittered like the outburning flame of its hidden life. The only objection I could find to it was that it stood isolated from its own park, although the portion next it was kept as trim as the smoothest lawn. There was not a door anywhere to be seen, except the two gateway entrances, and not a window upon the ground-floor. All the doors and low windows were either within the courts, or opened on the garden, which, with its terraced walks and avenues and one tiny lawn, surrounded the two further sides of the house, and was itself enclosed by walls. I knew the readiest way to the library well enough: once admitted to the outer gate, I had no occasion to trouble the servants. The rooms containing the books were amongst the bed-rooms, and after crossing the great hall, I had to turn my back on the stair which led to the ball-room and drawing-room, and ascend another to the left, so that I could come and go with little chance of meeting any of the family. The rooms, I have said, were six, none of them of any great size, and all ill-fitted for the purpose. In fact, there was such a sense of confinement about the whole arrangement as gave me the feeling that any difficult book read there would be unintelligible. Order, however, is only another kind of light, and would do much to destroy the impression. Having with practical intent surveyed the situation, I saw there was no space for action. I must have at least the temporary use of another room. Observing that the last of the suite of book-rooms furthest from the armoury had still a door into the room beyond, I proceeded to try it, thinking to know at a glance whether it would suit me, and whether it was likely to be yielded for my purpose. It opened, and, to my dismay, there stood Clara Coningham, fastening her collar. She looked sharply round, and made a half-indignant step towards me. ‘I beg your pardon a thousand times, Miss Coningham,’ I exclaimed. ‘Will you allow me to explain, or must I retreat unheard?’ I was vexed indeed, for, notwithstanding a certain flutter at the heart, I had no wish to renew my acquaintance with her. ‘There must be some fatality about the place, Mr Cumbermede!’ she said, almost with her old merry laugh. ‘It frightens me.’ ‘Precisely my own feeling, Miss Coningham. I had no idea you were in the neighbourhood.’ ‘I cannot say so much as that, for I had heard you were at The Moat; but I had no expectation of seeing you--least of all in this house. I suppose you are on the scent of some musty old book or other,’ she added, approaching the door, where I stood with the handle in my hand.