tightly. My remembrance of the position of the lamp was extremely vague, yet my fingers found it at last, and lifted it from the bracket. The globe contained oil, and, in another moment, the light revealed my immediate surroundings.
Except for a broken stair rail the hall remained in good order, a storm-coat hanging beside the front door, and a serving table and low rocker occupying the recess behind the stairway. I could see nearly to the further end, where a bench stood against the wall with some garment flung over it, and up the stairs to the blackness of the second story. The total desertion of the place was evident; the destruction which had been wrought was plainly the work of cowardly vandals, who had broken in after the Harwoods left. Convinced of this truth I proceeded fearlessly to explore, seeking merely the warmth of a fire and food. The library, a large room, the walls lined with bookcases, afforded no encouragement, but I stopped in amazement at the door of the dining room—the light of my lamp revealing a table at which someone had lately eaten, apparently alone. There was a single plate, a cup and saucer, a half loaf of bread, with a slice cut, part of a ham bone, with considerable meat remaining untouched, and a small china teapot. For an instant the unexpected sight of these articles fascinated me, and then my
