And now he wondered what had become of her.  Probably she was married; so striking a person would be almost sure to attract the notice of men.  And after all what could it matter to him?  He was not a marrying man, and women as a class had little attraction for him; indeed he disliked them.  It has been said that he had never married, and never even had a love affair since he was five-and-twenty.  But though he was not married, he once—­before he was five-and-twenty—­very nearly took that step.  It was twenty years ago now, and nobody quite knew the history, for in twenty years many things are fortunately forgotten.  But there was a history, and a scandal, and the marriage was broken off almost on the day it should have taken place.  And after that it leaked out in the neighbourhood that the young lady, who by the way was a considerable heiress, had gone off her head, presumably with grief, and been confined in an asylum, where she was believed still to remain.

Perhaps it was the thought of this one woman’s face, the woman he had once seen walking down the drift, her figure limned out against the stormy sky, that led him to think of the other face, the face hidden in the madhouse.  At any rate, with a sigh, or rather a groan, he swung himself round from the gate and began to walk homeward at a brisk pace.

The drift that he was following is known as the mile drift, and had in ancient times formed the approach to the gates of Honham Castle, the seat of the ancient and honourable family of de la Molle (sometimes written “Delamol” in history and old writings).  Honham Castle was now nothing but a ruin, with a manor house built out of the wreck on one side of its square, and the broad way that led to it from the high road which ran from Boisingham,[*] the local country town, was a drift or grass lane.

[*] Said to have been so named after the Boissey family, whose heiress
    a de la Molle married in the fourteenth century.  As, however, the
    town of Boisingham is mentioned by one of the old chroniclers,
    this does not seem very probable.  No doubt the family took their
    name from the town or hamlet, not the town from the family.

Colonel Quaritch followed this drift till he came to the high road, and then turned.  A few minutes’ walk brought him to a drive opening out of the main road on the left as he faced towards Boisingham.  This drive, which was some three hundred yards long, led up a rather sharp slope to his own place, Honham Cottage, or Molehill, as the villagers called it, a title calculated to give a keen impression of a neat spick and span red brick villa with a slate roof.  In fact, however, it was nothing of the sort, being a building of the fifteenth century, as a glance at its massive flint walls was sufficient to show.  In ancient times there had been a large Abbey at Boisingham, two miles away, which, the records tell, suffered terribly from an outbreak of the plague in the fifteenth century.  After this the monks obtained ten acres of land, known as Molehill, by grant from the de la Molle of the day, and so named either on account of their resemblance to a molehill (of which more presently) or after the family.  On this elevated spot, which was supposed to be peculiarly healthy, they built the little house now called Honham Cottage, whereto to fly when next the plague should visit them.