WYLDER'S HAJVD.
113
So I stopped a little way in the cepsewood, which was
growing quite dark, and I shouted there again, peeping
under the branches, and felt queer and much relieved that
nothing answered or appeared.
Looking round me, in a sort of dream, I remembered
suddenly what Wylder had told me of old Lome Brando^
to whose portrait this inexplicable phantom bore so power-
ful a resemblance. He was suspected of having murdered
his own son, at the edge of a tarn in the park. This tarn
maybe — and with the thought a deeper and colder shadow
gathered over the ominous hollow in which I stood, and the
rustling in the withered leaves sounded angrily.
I got up as quickly as might be to the higher grounds,
and waited there for a while, and watched for the emergence
of the old man. But it did not appear; and shade after
shade was spreading solemnly over the landscape, and hav-
ing a good way to walk, I began to stride briskly along the
slopes and hollows, in the twilight, now and then looking
into vacancy, over my shoulder.
The little adventure, and the deepening shades, helped
to sadden my homeward walk; and when at last the dusky
outline of the Hall rose before me, it wore a sort of weird
and haunted aspect.
CHAPTER XX.
CAPTAIN LAKE TAKES AN EVENING STROLL AB0TJ1
GYLINSDEN.
The absence of an accustomed face, even though the
owner be nothing very remarkable, is always felt; and