“A shudder passed over her, but she made no effort to return my acknowledgement.  As we cast our eyes dilating with horror, down some horrible pit upon whose verge we suddenly find ourselves, she allowed her gaze for a moment to dwell upon my face, then with a sudden lifting of her hand, pointed towards the door as if to bid me depart—­when it swung open with that shrill rushing of wind that involuntarily awakes a shudder within you, and the two men entered and came stamping up to my side.  Instantly her hand sunk, not feebly as with fear, but calmly as if at the bidding of her will, and without waiting for them to speak, she turned away and quietly left the room.  As the door closed upon her I noticed that she wore a calico frock and that her face did not own one perfect feature.

“’Go after Luttra and tell her to make up the bed in the northwest room,’ said the elder of the two in deep gutteral tones unmistakably German in their accent, to the other who stood shaking the wet off his coat into the leaping flames of a small wood fire that burned on the hearth before us.

“‘O, she’ll do without my bothering,’ was the sullen return.  ’I’m wet through.’

“The elder man, a large powerfully framed fellow of some fifty years or so, frowned.  It was an evil frown, and the younger one seemed to feel it.  He immediately tossed his coat onto a chair and left the room.

“‘Boys are so obstropolous now-a-days,’ remarked his companion to me with what he evidently intended for a conciliatory nod.  ’In my time they were broke in, did what they were told and asked no questions.’

“I smiled to myself at his calling the broad shouldered six-footer who had just left us a boy, but merely remarking, ’He is your son is he not!’ seated myself before the blaze which shot up a tongue of white flame at my approach, that irresistibly recalled to my fancy the appearance of the girl who had gone out a moment before.

“’O, yes, he is my son, and that girl you saw here was my daughter; I keep this inn and they help me, but it is a slow way to live, I can tell you.  Travel on these roads is slim.’

“‘I should think likely,’ I returned, remembering the half dozen or so hills up which I had clambered since I took to my horse.  ’How far are we from Pentonville?’

“‘O, two or three miles,’ he replied, but in a hurried kind of a way.  ‘Not far in the daytime but a regular journey in a night like this?’

“‘Yes,’ said I, as the house shook under a fresh gust; ’it is fortunate I have a place in which to put up.’

“He glanced down at my baggage which consisted of a small hand bag, an over-coat and a fishing pole, with something like a gleam of disappointment.

“‘Going fishing?’ he asked.

“‘Yes,’ I returned.

“‘Good trout up those streams and plenty of them,’ he went on.  ’Going alone?’

“I did not half like his importunity, but considering I had nothing better to do, replied as affably as possible.  ’No, I expect to meet a friend in Pentonville who will accompany me.”