Nor was there any suggestion of the original condition and quality of the house, except its size: whether the ordinary unsightly cabin of frontier "partners," or some sylvan cottage--there was nothing left but the usual ignoble and unsavory ruins of burnt-out human habitation.
And yet its very existence was a mystery.

It had been unknown at Collinson's, its nearest neighbor, and it was presumable that it was equally unknown at Skinner's.

Neither he nor his companions had detected it in their first journey by day through the hollow, and only the tell-tale window at night had been a hint of what was even then so successfully concealed that they could not discover it when they had blundered against its rock foundation.

For concealed it certainly was, and intentionally so.

But for what purpose?
He gave his romance full play for a few minutes with this question.
Some recluse, preferring the absolute simplicity of nature, or perhaps wearied with the artificialities of society, had secluded himself here with the company of his only daughter.