Suddenly a vanished, half-forgotten memory came back.  It brought a gleam of light into the darkness which had hitherto enveloped the whole matter.  She had once spoken to him of her early life.  She had mentioned a place where she used to play as a child; had mentioned it lovingly, longingly.  There were hills, she had said; hills all around.  And woods full of chestnut-trees, safe woods where she could wander at will.  And the roads—­how she loved to walk the roads.  No automobiles then, not even bicycles.  One could go miles without meeting man or horse.  Sometimes a heavily-laden cart would go by drawn by a long string of oxen; but they were picturesque and added to the charm.  Oxen were necessary where there was no railroad.

As he repeated these words to himself, he looked up.  Through the downpour his eyes could catch a glimpse of the road before him, winding up a long hillside.  Down this road was approaching a dozen yoke of oxen dragging a wagon piled with bales of some sort of merchandise.  One question in his mind was answered.  This spot was not an unknown one to her.  It was connected with her childhood days.  There was reason back of her choice of it as a place of meeting between her and her lawyer, or if not reason, association, and that of the tenderest kind.  He felt himself relieved of the extreme weight of his oppression and ventured upon asking a question or two about Sitford, which he took pains to say he was visiting for the first time.

The information he obtained was but meager, but he did learn that there was a very fair tavern there and that the manufactures of the place were sufficient to account for a stranger’s visit.  The articles made were mostly novelties.

This knowledge he meant to turn to account, but changed his mind when they finally splashed into town and stopped before the tavern which had been so highly recommended by his driver.  The house, dripping though it was from every eave, had such a romantic air that he thought he could venture to cite other reasons for his stay there than the prosaic one of business.  That is, if the landlady should give any evidence of being at all in accord with her quaint home and picturesque surroundings.

She showed herself and he at once gave her credit for being all he could wish in the way of credulity and good-nature, and meeting her with the smile which had done good execution in its day, he asked if she had a room for a writer who was finishing a book, and who only asked for quiet and regular meals before his own cosy fire.  This to rouse her imagination and make her amenable to his wishes for secrecy.