Glimpses of the sea were caught where a precipitous valley tore a cleft in the land. On a lofty brow in front Philip saw a solitary and half-dismantled building.
"Why on earth did two old people, one of them an invalid, select such a lonely residence?"
"I cannot say. I was only called in four days ago."
They passed a policeman patrolling his country beat. The doctor gave him an affable smile. The man saluted promptly, but looked after them with a puzzled air. He continued to watch them at intervals until they reached the Grange House.
Anson noticed that the track, it was a gate-guarded bridle path now, mounted steadily to the very threshold.
"The place stands on the edge of a cliff," he said.
"Yes. It was built by some recluse. The rock falls sheer, indeed slopes inwards to some extent, for three hundred feet."
"Some day, I suppose, it will fall into the sea?"
"Probably, but not in our time. Here we are. Just allow me to hitch the reins to the gatepost."
"Only an old woman and her daughter. They are busy at this hour."
Philip understood that a meal might be in preparation. He hoped not; personally, he could not eat there.
Dr. Williams pressed the latch of an old-fashioned door. He whispered:
"Be as quiet as possible. He may be asleep; if he is, it will not be for long, poor fellow."
Indeed the doctor himself betrayed some slight agitation now. He perspired somewhat, and his hand shook.
Anson followed him into a somber apartment, crudely furnished, half dining room, half kitchen. Though the light of a June evening was clear enough outside, the interior of the house was gloomy in the extreme. There were some dark curtains shrouding a doorway.
"Lady Morland is in there," murmured the doctor, brokenly. "Will you go to her?"
Philip obeyed in silence. He passed through the curtains. It was so dark that he imagined he must be in a passage with a door at the other end.
"Can't I have a light?" he asked, partly turning toward the room he had just quitted.
In the neglected garden at the landward front of the Grange House the horse stood patiently on three legs, ruminating, no doubt, on the steepness of hills and the excellence of pastures.
Nearly an hour passed thus, in solemn quietude. Then a boy on a bicycle, red-faced with exertion, pedaled manfully up the hill, and through the gate.