He crossed the east end of the house, and
went through a little door into the stable-yard, locking it after him. In
the kennels in the corner came a movement, and a Danish hound came out
silently into the cage before her house, and stood up, like a slender
grey ghost, paws high up in the bars, and whimpered softly to her lord.
He quieted her, and went to the door in the yard that opened on to the
field-path to East Maskells, unbarred it and stepped through. There was a
dry ditch on his left, where nettles quivered in the stirring air; and a
heavy clump of bushes rose beyond, dark and impenetrable. Mr. Buxton
stared straight at these a moment or two, and then out towards East
Maskells. There lay his own meadows, and the cattle and horses secure and
sleeping. Then he stepped back again; barred the door and walked up
through the stable-yard into the front court. There the great iron gates
rose before him, diaphanous-looking and flimsy in the starlight. He went
up to them and shook them; and a loose shield jangled fiercely overhead.
Then he peered through, holding the bars, and saw the familiar patch of
grass beyond the gravel sweep, and the dark cottages over the way. Then
he made his way back to the front door, unlocked it with his private key,
passed through the hall, through a parlour or two into the lower floor of
the priests' quarters; unlocked softly the little door into the walled
garden, and went out on tip-toe once more. Even as he went, Anthony's
light overhead went out.
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