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Peter had ventured a word of pity for the desolate creature whose story he had just heard. But pity was, apparently, the last emotion roused towards her. Horror of her sin and degradation, a [Pg 42]horror enhanced by the superstition vivid around her memory, was all the buxom postmistress felt. And should any one be wickedly daring enough to enter the cottage and live there—well, the curse of evil would undoubtedly fall upon him, though assuredly no one would interfere should any one prove himself a sufficient friend of evil for such a venture.

So much had Peter gathered regarding the cottage and its story. He had then put another question regarding the white house on the hill.

It belonged, so he was told, to a Lady Anne Garland, who lived there with a companion. At the moment she was away from home, though she was expected to return in June. And then the other customer had entered the shop, and the flood of the good woman’s discourse had been stemmed.

Peter had reached the copse by now and turned in at the broken gate. As he entered the cottage it seemed to him that there was an air of expectancy about the place, as if it was waiting for the answer to a question.