" So
Maud, darling, although the thought will trouble us again and again, there
is nothing in it; and the poor mortal body is only the cold ruin of a
habitation which _they_ have forsaken before we do. So this great wind, you
say, is blowing toward us from the wood there. If so, Maud, it is blowing
from Bartram-Haugh, too, over the trees and chimneys of that old place, and
the mysterious old man, who is quite right in thinking I don't like him;
and I can fancy him an old enchanter in his castle, waving his familiar
spirits on the wind to fetch and carry tidings of our occupations here.'
I lifted my head and listened to the storm, dying away in the distance
sometimes--sometimes swelling and pealing around and above us--and through
the dark and solitude my thoughts sped away to Bartram-Haugh and Uncle
Silas.
'This letter,' I said at last, 'makes me feel differently. I think he is a
stern old man--is he?'
'It is twenty years, now, since I saw him,' answered Lady Knollys. 'I did
not choose to visit at his house.'
'Was that before the dreadful occurrence at Bartram-Haugh?'
'Yes--before, dear.
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