When Alec Trenholme had had the key of the Harmon house in his possession some days, he went one evening, beguiled by the charm of the weather and by curiosity, for the first time into the Harmon garden.

He wished to look over the rooms that were of some interest to him because of one of their late inmates, and having procrastinated, he thought to carry out his intention now, in the last hour before darkness came on, in order to return the key that night.
The path up to the house was lightly barred by the wild vine, that, climbing on overgrown shrubs on either side, had more than once cast its tendrils across.

A trodden path there was in and out the bushes, although not the straight original one, and by following it Alec gained the open space before the house.

Here self-sown magenta petunias made banks of colour against the old brick walls, and the evening light, just turning rosy, fell thereon.

He could not see the river, although he heard it flowing behind a further mass of bushes.