This being the case, the Hedgerton gossips asked one another daily why Sir Hector Wyke had come down to the place during the season of mists and rain, of leafless boughs and ruined orchards. No one was able to give an answer, although it was frequently suggested that the baronet's health was bad. But a man in bad health would scarcely come to so unhealthy a place at so unhealthy a time. Therefore, there must be some other reason. Everyone tried to learn what it was, and everyone failed. No information was supplied by the tenant of Maranatha, who lived a very secluded life and appeared greatly desirous to be left to himself. He saw no one, and when he took his solitary walks he spoke to no one. Even Mr. Craver was denied admittance when he sought to welcome the stranger to his parish and he returned home to tell his wife that Wyke was probably a misanthropic creature, who disliked his fellow-men. The description aroused Mrs. Craver's curiosity, and she was even more particular than usual in examining Mrs. Mellin when that spy came to report what had taken place in the parish during the week. The washerwoman could only state, after three weeks watching, that her bills and the bills of the tradespeople were paid regularly, and she saw no one but Mrs. Vence, who as not inclined to be communicative, and that the house appeared to be as neglected now as it was when Sir Hector first went to live in it. It would seem that the mysterious baronet did not so much live in Maranatha as camp in it, since no attempt was made to brush up the residence or improve the garden in any way. Sir Hector, save for occasional walks, stayed indoors, like a snail in a shell, and Mrs. Mellin augured ill from this suspicious retirement. She chiefly blamed the house itself for the doings of its tenant. "There's a cuss on it," she declared with relish, when Mrs. Craver was speculating as to the meaning of the whole queer business. "If Solomon hisself, as was 'appy with a thousand wives, lived in that 'ouse he'd ha' been miserable within the week. Why, the name tells you what it is, ma'am. What do Maranatha whisper to you but ruin, which there 'as been, and suicide, which 'appened, and bankruptcy, with the elopement of gels--which we know is common there. No ma'am, say what you like, it'll be murder nex'; and 'Eaven be betwixt us and 'arm, save and bless us." Mrs. Mellin always ended these dismal prognostications with the observation that she hoped she would not be called upon to give evidence at the inquest, as murders got on her nerves. Mrs. Craver was little less fortunate with her son when she asked questions, for all that Edwin could say amounted to nothing. Sir Hector Wyke was a rich man, and a popular man, who had been in the army, and was now a gentleman at large. Edwin had met him in Society, and liked him fairly well although--as he put it--Wyke was not a man he would care to make a chum of.