Its reflection was shot back in ruddy patches by the distant pools which lay amid the great Grimpen Mire.

There were the two towers of Baskerville Hall, and there a distant blur of smoke which marked the village of Grimpen.

Between the two, behind the hill, was the house of the Stapletons.

All was sweet and mellow and peaceful in the golden evening light, and yet as I looked at them my soul shared none of the peace of nature but quivered at the vagueness and the terror of that interview which every instant was bringing nearer.

With tingling nerves, but a fixed purpose, I sat in the dark recess of the hut and waited with sombre patience for the coming of its tenant.
And then at last I heard him.