after I had paid my rather aimless visit, to tramp all the way
back to Marlow again. As I started, a clock on the inn table struck
four.

There was a long streak of gold along the horizon of the otherwise dull
grey sky, and a rising wind moaned drearily among the bare lower
branches of the trees.

The scene looked indescribably desolate, and yet there was a certain
beauty in it, too. I had been told exactly how to reach the House by the
Lock, and when, after passing the somewhat weedy-looking lock, I began
skirting along a species of backwater, and came in sight of a long,
low-browed house close to the river, I knew I had reached my journey's
end.

The place had the appearance of being only a restored remnant of an
ancient abbey fallen into decay.

Indeed, at one end of the house a ruined wall jutted out, with a row of
stone window-frames, half filled in with sombre trails of ivy; then in
the middle came the habitable part of the old house, with an imposing
front door, which might have belonged to some big Gothic Church;
magnificent windows, that reminded me of a certain dear old college at
Oxford, well-known in younger days; and beyond, to the left, was the
wing evidently added by Wildred. It was in wretched taste, I thought,
with its pretentiousness and its huge round tower at the end, utterly
out of keeping with the rest. Then, as I criticised, my eye was caught
by a puff of fiery smoke that suddenly rose above the battlements of the
hideous tall tower.

I could not quite understand this phenomenon, for the tower, so far as I
could see, had been merely built with the mistaken idea of being
ornamental. Though new, it was intended to present the effect of being
ruinous, having little dark chinks in lieu of windows.

Still, the smoke was there, belching out sparks not only from the apex
of the tower, but stealing in a belated puff or two from the chinks in
the wall nearest the top.

I thought of fire, and quickened my steps, meaning to mention to the
servant who should open the door what I had seen. The lawn stretched
down to the river, which was here, as I said, a mere backwater, and
having entered through a gate set in the side of a big brick wall, I
walked briskly up the short gravelled path that led to the house.

At least Wildred had had the sense to let this door alone, with its
carvings of oak, and its big ornamental hinges and knocker. The only
modern innovation was an electric bell, which I touched,