CHAPTER XI.
INTRUSION.
By my troth, I will go with thee to the lane's-end!--I am a kind of burr--I shall stick.
_Measure for Measure._ It was now far advanced in autumn.

The dew lay thick on the long grass, where it was touched by the sun; but where the sward lay in shadow, it was covered with hoar frost, and crisped under Jekyl's foot, as he returned through the woods of St.Ronan's.

The leaves of the ash-trees detached themselves from the branches, and, without an air of wind, fell spontaneously on the path.

The mists still lay lazily upon the heights, and the huge old tower of St.Ronan's was entirely shrouded with vapour, except where a sunbeam, struggling with the mist, penetrated into its wreath so far as to show a projecting turret upon one of the angles of the old fortress, which, long a favourite haunt of the raven, was popularly called the Corbie's Tower.

Beneath, the scene was open and lightsome, and the robin redbreast was chirping his best, to atone for the absence of all other choristers.