her. The next morning, I set my trap for Sir
Jervis."

"Your trap?" Emily repeated, wondering what he meant.

"I went out to sketch from Nature," Alban continued. "Can anybody (with
or without a title, I don't care), living in a lonely country house, see
a stranger hard at work with a color-box and brushes, and not stop to
look at what he is doing? Three days passed, and nothing happened. I was
quite patient; the grand open country all round me offered lessons of
inestimable value in what we call aerial perspective. On the fourth
day, I was absorbed over the hardest of all hard tasks in landscape
art, studying the clouds straight from Nature. The magnificent moorland
silence was suddenly profaned by a man's voice, speaking (or rather
croaking) behind me. 'The worst curse of human life,' the voice said,
'is the detestable necessity of taking exercise. I hate losing my time;
I hate fine scenery; I hate fresh air; I hate a pony. Go on, you brute!'
Being too deeply engaged with the clouds to look round, I had supposed
this pretty speech to be addressed to some second person. Nothing of the
sort; the croaking voice had a habit of speaking to itself. In a minute
more, there came within my range of view a solitary old man, mounted on
a rough pony."

"Was it Sir Jervis?"

Alban hesitated.

"It looked more like the popular notion of the devil," he said.

"Oh, Mr. Morris!"

"I give you my first impression, Miss Emily, for what it is worth. He
had his high-peaked hat in his hand, to keep his head cool. His wiry
iron-gray hair looked like hair standing on end; his bushy eyebrows
curled upward toward his narrow temples; his horrid old globular eyes
stared with a wicked brightness; his pointed beard hid his chin; he
was covered from his throat to his ankles in a loose black garment,
something between a coat and a cloak; and, to complete him, he had a
club foot. I don't doubt that Sir Jervis Redwood is the earthly alias
which he finds convenient--but I stick to that first impression which
appeared to surprise you. 'Ha! an artist; you seem to be the sort of man
I want!' In those terms he introduced himself. Observe, if you please,
that my trap caught him the moment he came my way. Who wouldn't be an
artist?"

"Did he take a liking to you?" Emily inquired.

"Not he! I don't believe he ever took a liking to anybody in his life."

"Then how did you get your invitation to his house?"

"That's the amusing part of it, Miss Emil