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THE BLACK WOLF'S BREED

reared itself high above the portcullis. The moat was filled with drift of crumbling years, and the walls, fallen in many places, ran hither and thither in aimless curves and angles, much as they do to-day.

Up to this hour my chronicle has been only of such adventures as might befall a soldier upon any enterprise, but now a strange thing happened. Until that moment I had never seen the Chateau Cartillon, still there was not a corner or a passage which did not seem well known to me. My feet fell into paths they seemed no strangers to. I seemed to know intuitively what each building was for, and even imagined most vividly scenes which had transpired there. The whole place had the most intense personal interest for me, why I knew not.

I am not superstitious, but the ruin oppressed me, made me restless and uneasy; yet I was loath to leave. The loneliness of it all filled me with vague apprehensions as I picked my way across the grass encumbered court-yard toward the road again. A thousand haunting fancies of half familiar things thronged from out each dismantled doorway. Faces I all but recognized peered at me through the broken casements; voices I almost knew called to me from many a silent corner. Yet all was still, all was solitude. Heartily shamed at my quickening step I hurried on and having consumed a quarter of my hour sat down by the spring mentioned before, just beyond the castle's utmost boundary.

The haze of late afternoon had deepened into night upon the peaceful meadows and lazy sweep of river. A distant peasant's song came faintly from the fields.