"The Maze," she repeated, thinking the name had an odd sound. "Do you mean that it is a house, boy?--a dwelling place?" "It be that, 'um, sure enough. Old Mr. Throcton used to live in't Folks said he was crazy." "Why is it called the Maze!" "It _is_ a maze," said the boy, patting his dog, which had at length regained its liberty. "See that there path, 'um"--pointing to the one close within the gate--"and see them there trees ayont it?" Miss Blake looked through the interstices of the gate at the trees beyond the path. They extended on all sides farther than she could see. Thick, clustering trees, and shrubs full of leafy verdure, with what looked like innumerable paths amidst them. "That's the maze," said the boy, "and the place is called after it. Once get among them there trees, 'um, and you'd never get out again without the clue. The house is in the middle on't; a space cleared out, with a goodish big garden and grass-plat. I've been in three or four times when old Mr. Throcton lived there." "Did you get in through the maze?" asked Miss Blake. "Yes, 'um; there ain't no other way. 'Twere always along of mother; she knowed the housekeeper. The man servant he'd take us through the trees all roundabout and bring us out again." "Where does this path lead to?" was the next question, speaking of the one inside between the labyrinth and the gate. "He goes round and round and round again," was the lucid answer. "I've heard say that a door in it leads right to the house, 'um, but nobody can find the door save them that know it." "What an extraordinary place!" exclaimed Miss Blake, much impressed with the narration. "One would think smugglers lived there--or people of that kind." The boy's eyes--and intelligent eyes they were--went up to Miss Blake's. He did not particularly understand what a smuggler might be, but felt sure it could not apply to Mr. Throcton. "Mr. Throcton was a rich gentleman that had always lived here," he said. "There warn't nothing wrong with him--only a bit crazy. For years afore he died, 'um, he'd never see nobody; and the house, mother said, were kept just like a prison." Miss Blake, very curious, looked at the lock and tried to shake the gate. She might as well have tried to shake the air. "Who lives in it now, Tom Pepp?" "A young lady, 'um." "A young lady?" echoed Miss Blake. "Who else?" "Not nobody else," said the boy. "Why, you don't mean to say a young lady lives alone there?" "She do, 'um. She and a old servant or two." "Is she married or single?" Tom Pepp could not answer the last question. Supposed, now he came to think of it, she must be single, as no husband was there. He did not know her name. "What is she like?" asked Miss Blake.