Harvest was over, and the autumn evenings were darkening. It was
later than the usual bed time, but Patience had a piece of spinning
which she was anxious to finish for the weaver who took all her yarn,
and Stead was reading Dr. Eales's gift of the Morte d'Arthur, which
had great fascination for him, though he never knew whether to regard
it as truth or fable. He wanted to drive out the memory of what Mrs.
Lightfoot had told him about the Henshaw household, where the
youngest of the lady's brothers had lately arrived from beyond seas,
bringing with him habits of noise and riot, which greatly scandalised
the neighbours.
Suddenly Growler started up with pricked ears, and emitted a sound
like thunder. Patience checked her wheel. There was an unmistakable
sound of steps. Stead sprang up. Growler rushed at the door with a
furious volley of barking. Stead threw it open, catching up a stout
stick as he did so, and the dog dashed out, but was instantly driven
back with an oath and a blow. It was a bright moonlight night, and
Stead beheld three tall men evidently well armed.
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