I groped on.

Again a whitish object gleamed before me: it was a gate--a wicket; it moved on its hinges as I touched it.

On each side stood a sable bush-holly or yew.
Entering the gate and passing the shrubs, the silhouette of a house rose to view, black, low, and rather long; but the guiding light shone nowhere.

All was obscurity.

Were the inmates retired to rest?
I feared it must be so.