“I think the house is modern,” remarked Lewis.  “It was probably built by some eccentric at the beginning of the nineteenth century, who did it up in Empire style.”

“Do you know what time it is?” said Stewart, suddenly.  “The sun has set and it’s growing dark.”

“We must go at once,” said Lewis, “we’ll come back here to-morrow.”  They walked on in silence.  The wood was dim in the twilight, a fitful breeze made the trees rustle now and again, but the air was just as sultry as ever.  The shapes of the trees seemed fantastic and almost threatening in the dimness, and the rustle of the leaves was like a human moan.  Once or twice they seemed to hear the grunting of pigs in the undergrowth and to catch sight of bristly backs.

“We don’t seem to be getting any nearer the end,” said Stewart after a time.  “I think we’ve taken the wrong path.”  They stopped.  “I remember that tree,” said Stewart, pointing to a twisted oak; “we must go straight on from there to the left.”  They walked on and in ten minutes’ time found themselves once more at the back of the house.  It was now quite dark.

“We shall never find the way now,” said Lewis.  “We had better sleep in the house.”  They walked through the house into one of the furthest rooms and settled themselves on the mossy platform.  The night was warm and starry, the house deathly still except for the splashing of the water in the basin.

“We shan’t get any food,” Lewis said.

“I’m not hungry,” said Stewart, and Lewis knew that he could not have eaten anything to save his life.  He felt utterly exhausted and yet not at all sleepy.  Stewart, on the other hand, was overcome with drowsiness.  He lay down on the mossy platform and fell asleep almost instantly.  Lewis lit a pipe; the vague forebodings he had felt in the morning had returned to him, only increased tenfold.  He felt an unaccountable physical discomfort, an inexplicable sensation of uneasiness.  Then he realised what it was.  He felt there was someone in the house besides themselves, someone or something that was always behind him, moving when he moved and watching him.  He walked into the impluvium, but heard nothing and saw nothing.  There were none of the thousand little sounds, such as the barking of a dog, or the hoot of a night-bird, which generally complete the silence of a summer night.  Everything was uncannily still.  He returned to the room.  He would have given anything to be back on the yacht, for besides the physical sensation of discomfort and of the something watching him he also felt the unmistakable feeling of impending danger that had been with him nearly all day.

He lay down and at last fell into a doze.  As he dozed he heard a subdued noise, a kind of buzzing, such as is made by a spinning wheel or a shuttle on a loom, and more strongly than ever he felt that he was being watched.  Then all at once his body seemed to grow stiff with fright.  He saw someone enter the room from the impluvium.  It was a dim, veiled figure, the figure of a woman.  He could not distinguish her features, but he had the impression that she was strangely beautiful; she was bearing a cup in her hands, and she walked towards Stewart and bent over him, offering him the cup.