Parkins, the immaculate, the silent, the perfect automaton, asked an eager question.
"What is it, sir ?" There was the sound of a window opening overhead.

At that moment Parkins would not have asked in vain for an annuity.

Dominey glanced at the little semicircle of servants and raised his voice.
"It is the end, I trust, of these foolish superstitions about Roger Unthank's ghost.

There lies Roger Unthank, half beast, half man.

For some reason or other--some lunatic's reason, of course--he has chosen to hide himself in the Black Wood all these years.