Behind it was the hedge which parted Benjulia's morsel of land from the land of his neighbour.
Here, the trees rose again, and the fields beyond were cultivated.

No dwellings, and no living creatures appeared.

So near to London--and yet, in its loneliness, so far away--there was something unnatural in the solitude of the place.
Led by a feeling of curiosity, which was fast degenerating into suspicion, Ovid approached the laboratory, without showing himself in front of the house.

No watch-dog barked; no servant appeared on the look-out for a visitor.

He was ashamed of himself as he did it, but (so strongly had he been impressed by Carmina's observation of the doctor) he even tried the locked door of the laboratory, and waited and listened! It was a breezy summer-day; the leaves of the trees near him rustled cheerfully.