“She was about to close the door when a man emerged from a room at the side of the hall and came toward us.  An old man of great height and breadth of shoulder.

“‘Ashville is fifteen miles distant,’ he said slowly.

“‘If you will direct me to the nearest village, I shall be grateful,’ I remarked.

“He made no reply, but exchanged a quick, furtive glance with the woman.  She made a gesture of dissent.

“‘The nearest place is three miles off,’ he said, turning to me and apparently trying to soften a naturally harsh voice; ’if you will give me the pleasure of your company, I will make you as comfortable as I can.’

“I hesitated.  They were certainly a queer-looking couple, and the gloomy hall with the shadows thrown by the candle looked hardly more inviting than the darkness outside.

“‘You are very kind,’ I murmured, irresolutely, ‘but—­’

“‘Come in,’ he said quickly; ‘shut the door, Anne.’

“Almost before I knew it I was standing inside and the old woman, muttering to herself, had closed the door behind me.  With a queer sensation of being trapped I followed my host into the room, and taking the proffered chair warmed my frozen fingers at the fire.

“‘Dinner will soon be ready,’ said the old man, regarding me closely.  ’If you will excuse me.’

“I bowed and he left the room.  A minute afterward I heard voices; his and the old woman’s, and, I fancied, a third.  Before I had finished my inspection of the room he returned, and regarded me with the same strange look I had noticed before.

“‘There will be three of us at dinner,’ he said, at length.  ’We two and my son.’

“I bowed again, and secretly hoped that that look didn’t run in the family.

“‘I suppose you don’t mind dining in the dark,’ he said, abruptly.

“‘Not at all,’ I replied, hiding my surprise as well as I could, ’but really I’m afraid I’m intruding.  If you’ll allow me—­’

“He waved his huge gaunt hands.  ’We’re not going to lose you now we’ve got you,’ he said, with a dry laugh.  ’It’s seldom we have company, and now we’ve got you we’ll keep you.  My son’s eyes are bad, and he can’t stand the light.  Ah, here is Anne.’

“As he spoke the old woman entered, and, eyeing me stealthily, began to lay the cloth, while my host, taking a chair the other side of the hearth, sat looking silently into the fire.  The table set, the old woman brought in a pair of fowls ready carved in a dish, and placing three chairs, left the room.  The old man hesitated a moment, and then, rising from his chair, placed a large screen in front of the fire and slowly extinguished the candles.

“‘Blind man’s holiday,’ he said, with clumsy jocosity, and groping his way to the door opened it.  Somebody came back into the room with him, and in a slow, uncertain fashion took a seat at the table, and the strangest voice I have ever heard broke a silence which was fast becoming oppressive.