As he came into the yard, he thought he heard something stirring within the open door of the stable on his right, and thinking it to be the farmer, and that an explanation would be advisable, looked in.

At first he saw nothing, though he could hear a horse moving about in the loose-box in the corner.  Then he saw a light shine beneath the crack of the second door, beside the loose-box, that led into the farm-yard proper; and the next instant the door opened, a man came in with a lantern obviously just lighted, as the flame was not yet burned up, and stopped with a half-frightened look on seeing Frank.  But he said nothing.

Frank himself was just on the point of giving an explanation when he, too, stopped dead and stared.  It seemed to him that he had been here before, under exactly the same circumstances; he tried to remember what happened next, but he could not....

For this was what he saw as the flame burned up more brightly.

The man who held the lantern and looked at him in silence with a half-deprecating air was a middle-aged man, bearded and bare-headed.  He had thrown over his shoulders a piece of sacking, that hung from him almost like a robe.  The light that he carried threw heavy wavering shadows about the stable, and Frank noticed the great head of a cart-horse in the loose-box peering through the bars, as if to inquire what the company wanted.  Then, still without speaking, Frank let his eyes rove round, and they stopped suddenly at the sight of yet one more living being in the stable.  Next to the loose-box was a stall, empty except for one occupant; for there, sitting on a box with her back to the manger and one arm flung along it to support her weight, was the figure of a girl.  Her head, wrapped in an old shawl, leaned back against her arm, and a very white and weary face, absolutely motionless, looked at him.  She had great eyes, with shadows beneath, and her lips were half opened.  By her side lay a regular tramp’s bundle.

Frank looked at her steadily a moment, then he looked back at the man, who still had not moved or spoken.  The draught from the door behind blew in and shook the flame of his lantern, and the horse sighed long and loud in the shadows behind.  Once more Frank glanced at the girl; she had lowered her arm from the manger and now sat looking at him, it seemed, with a curious intentness and expectancy.

There was nothing to be said.  Frank bowed a little, almost apologetically, and went out.

Now that was absolutely all that happened.  Frank says so expressly in his diary.  He did not speak to them, nor they to him; nor was any explanation given on either side.  He went out across the yard in silence, seeing nothing of the farmer, but hearing a piano begin to play beyond the brightly lighted windows, of which he could catch a glimpse over the low wall separating the yard from the garden.  He walked quickly up the village street and caught up his companions, as he had said, less than half a mile further on.  He said nothing to them of his experience—­indeed, what was there to say?—­but he must have written it down that same night when they reached their next lodging, and written it down, too, with that minuteness of detail which surprised me so much when I first read it.