Indeed, the cold, dead aspect of the house had struck such a chill into my heart that I determined to scale the fence at whatever risk of incurring the general's displeasure rather than return without news of the Heatherstones.
Happily there was no need of this extreme expedient, for I had not been there half-an-hour before I heard the harsh sound of an opening lock, and the general himself emerged from the main door.
To my surprise he was dressed in a military uniform, and that not the uniform in ordinary use in the British Army.

The red coat was strangely cut and stained with the weather.

The trousers had originally been white, but had now faded to a dirty yellow.

With a red sash across his chest and a straight sword hanging from his side, he stood the living example of a bygone type--the John Company's officer of forty years ago.
He was followed by the ex-tramp, Corporal Rufus Smith, now well-clad and prosperous, who limped along beside his master, the two pacing up and down the lawn absorbed in conversation.

I observed that from time to time one or other of them would pause and glance furtively all about them, as though guarding keenly against a surprise.