me and a
depth of solitude oppressive to think of.

Anxious to be rid of suggestions wellnigh bordering upon the
superstitious, I took one peep from the front windows, and then
descended to the first floor. The sight of my horse quietly dozing in
the summer sunlight had reassured me, and by the time I had recrossed
the dismal threshold, and regained the cheerful highway, I was
conscious of no emotions deeper than the intense interest of a curious
mind to solve the mystery and understand the secret of this remarkable
house.

Rousing my horse from his comfortable nap, I rode on through the
forest; but scarcely had I gone a dozen rods before the road took a
turn, the trees suddenly parted, and I found myself face to face with
wide rolling meadows and a busy village. So, then, this ancient and
deserted house was not in the heart of the woods, as I had imagined,
but in the outskirts of a town, and face to face with life and
activity. This discovery was a shock to my romance, but as it gave my
curiosity an immediate hope of satisfaction, I soon became reconciled
to the situation, and taking the road which led to the village, drew
up before the inn and went in, ostensibly for refreshment. This being
speedily provided, I sat down in the cosy dining-room, and as soon as
opportunity offered, asked the attentive landlady why the old house in
the woods had remained so long deserted.

She gave me an odd look, and then glanced aside at an old man who sat
doubled up in the opposite corner. "It is a long story," said she,
"and I am busy now; but later, if you wish to hear it, I will tell you
all we know on the subject. After father is gone out," she whispered.
"It always excites him to hear any talk about that old place."

I saw that it did. I had no sooner mentioned the house than his white
head lifted itself with something like spirit, and his form, which had
seemed a moment before so bent and aged, straightened with an interest
that made him look almost hale again.

"I will tell you," he broke in; "I am not busy. I was ninety last
birthday, and I forget sometimes my grandchildren's names, but I never
forget what took place in that old house one night fifty years
ago--never, never."

"I know, I know," hastily interposed his daughter, "you remember
beautifully; but this gentleman wishes to eat his dinner now, and must
not have his appetite interfered with. You will wait, will you not,
sir, till I have a little more leisure?"