I buttoned my coat closely round my throat, and braced my nerves to meet the elements, hoping I might find my reward at the end of my journey, and inwardly cursing every mile of the rough road.
"But even Cumberland miles cannot wind on forever, and my Jehu at length drew up at a massive stone gateway, which he assured me formed the entrance to Dacrepool Grange.

There was neither light nor sound in the lodge, nor did any one come out in answer to our impatient calls, so we had perforce to open the gates for ourselves.

They creaked on their rusty hinges, as if they had not been unclosed for many a day, and when I noted the neglected drive, where the overhanging trees swept our faces as we passed, I began to fear that I had come on a fool's errand, and that I should find the house shut up and my friend abroad.
"On this point, however, my driver reassured me.
'Nay, oo'be to home, theer's a light i' yon winder,' he said, pointing with his whip where a faint streak of yellow shone like a beacon into the surrounding gloom.

The moon was struggling through the clouds, and I could dimly discern the outline of the quaint gabled front of the house, with its mullioned windows, and masses of clinging ivy.
Dismounting at the old stone porch, I seized the knocker and beat a mighty tattoo.

There was no reply.