At the foot, out of a thick wood of flowering hawthorn, two or three roofless gables, blackened as if by fire, and a single tall chimney marked the ruins of a house.
"What may this be ?" whispered Matcham.
"Nay, by the mass, I know not," answered Dick.

"I am all at sea.

Let us go warily." With beating hearts, they descended through the hawthorns.

Here and there, they passed signs of recent cultivation; fruit trees and pot herbs ran wild among the thicket; a sun-dial had fallen in the grass; it seemed they were treading what once had been a garden.

Yet a little farther and they came forth before the ruins of the house.
It had been a pleasant mansion and a strong.