I walked hurriedly on,
and when I had reached the big iron gate I stopped and peered through
it. A gravel roadway, now overgrown with weeds, led from the gate to the
front of the house, which stood facing me. It was built entirely of
wood and consisted of four wings (at least there were no others visible)
evidently enclosing a quadrangular courtyard, the rear wings being
lower than those in front, and hidden by the latter from the view of one
standing at the gate as I was. It was only at a distance that one could
see their roofs above the enclosure. There was but one line of windows
along the front, but there was an oriel just under the peak of the main
building, and I could see a skylight here and there upon the roofs.

The blinds were closed and there was no sign of life about the
house--evidently planned with hospitable intentions, but now silent and
forbidding. I tried the gates. They were locked securely. A screen of
closely woven wire rose from the pavement half way up the iron work.
Evidently it would be impossible to reach the doors without scaling
this barrier, and I was not yet ready to try an expedient so desperate.
Returning to my hotel I wrote a letter to the master of the house,
telling him of my long-continued quest and of my hopes regarding our
possible kinship. Day after day I anxiously awaited his reply, until
a week had passed, but no word came from him. In passing the house at
different times, however, I observed some signs of life within it--a
blind open that had been closed the day before--a faint glimmer of light
on the trees in the rear of the grounds at night, which might have come
from the back windows. Even this slight encouragement was gratifying,
but as time passed without bringing any reply to my letter I began to
think that, after all, my hopes rested on very shadowy foundations. One
day I asked the local postmaster if a man of the name of Lane, who lived
near that city, ever sent for his mail.

"Never," said he. "The man is crazy, I guess, and it's wasting postage
to write him. He's a hermit, sir--a regular hermit, and is about the
same as dead, for nobody ever sees him. The tradesmen tell me that his
old servant comes out of an evening, once in a while, to buy provisions,
but he's deaf as a post and dumb as an oyster." The interview had at
least shown me the futility of trying to reach him by letter.

It was clear that only one course was open to me. I must brave the
unknown perils wi