He gladly did as she suggested, yet, strangely enough, continued to feel dissatisfied.  Vaguely he felt that in some almost imperceptible manner she had changed her mood.  He could not base his thoughts on a single word, or action, yet he felt the difference—­this was not the Natalie of the raft.  She was too irritable; too sharp of speech.  But then, no doubt, she was tired, worn out, her nerves broken; indeed he found it hard to control himself, and he must not blame her for exhibiting weakness under the strain.  So he drove the thought from him, clinging close to her arm, and vaguely wondering how she was able to trace the path so easily.  They seemed to progress through an impenetrable wall of blackness, and yet the way had been cleared of obstacles, and was reasonably smooth.  The slope upward was quite gradual, and the summit led directly into the mouth of a small valley.  By this time even West could recognize that they were proceeding along a well used path, and he was not surprised when she announced the presence of the house before them, pointing out the dim shadow through the gloom.  Otherwise his eyes might have failed to distinguish the outlines, but under her guidance he could make out enough of its general form to assure him that they were approaching no mere fisherman’s shack.

“That is no hut,” he exclaimed in surprise.  “It looks more like a mansion.”

“And why not?” pleasantly enough.  “I have always heard these bluffs were filled with summer homes.  Unfortunately this one appears to be deserted.  But we must go on, and try to discover some inhabitant.”

There was no light to guide them, yet the path was easily followed, through what apparently was an orchard, then through the gate of a rustic fence to a broad carriage drive, circling past the front door.  All was silence, desolation; no window exhibited a gleam of radiance, nor did a sound greet them from any direction.  They paused an instant before the front door, uncertain how to proceed.

“But there must be some one about here,” West insisted.  “For this was the house I saw from the ridge, and there was a light burning then in one of the windows, and there was a wisp of smoke rising from a chimney.  Perhaps the shutters are all closed, or, early as it is, the people may have retired.”

She stepped boldly forward, and placed her hand on the knob of the door.

“Why,” she whispered, excitedly.  “It is unlocked; see, I can open it.  Perhaps something is wrong here.  What shall we do?”

“Knock first; then if there is no response, we can feel our way about inside.  My matches are all wet.”