巴斯克维尔的猎犬

　　He came over to call upon Baskerville on that first day， and the very nextmonung he took us both to show us the spot where the legend of the wickedHugo is supposed to have had its origin. It was an excursion of some milesacross the moor to a place which is so dismal that it might have suggested the　　story. We found a short valley between rugged tors which led to an open， grassyspace flecked over with the white cotton grass. In the middle of it rose twogreat stones， worn and sharpened at the upper end until they looked like thehuge corroding fangs of some monstrous beast. In every way it correspondedwith the scene of the old tragedy. Sir Henry was much interested and asked　　Stapleton more than once whether he did really believe in the possibility of theinterference of the supernatural in the affairs of men. He spoke lightly， but itwas evident that he was very much in earnest. Stapleton was guarded in hisreplies， but it was easy to see that he said less than he might， and that he wouldnot express his whole opinion out of consideration for the feelings of thebaronet. He told us of similar cases， where families had suffered from someevil influence， and he lefi us with the impression that he shared the popularview upon the matter.　　On our way back we stayed for lunch at Merripit House， and it was therethat Sir Henry made the acquaintance of Miss Stapleton. From the first momentthat he saw her he appeared to be strongly attracted by her， and I am muchmistaken if the feeling was not mutual. He referred to her again and again onour walk home， and since then hardly a day has passed that we have not seensomething of the brother and sister. They dine here to-night， and there is sometalk of our going to them next week. One would imagine that such a matchwould be very welcome to Stapleton， and yet I have more than once caught alook of the strongest disapprobation in his face when Sir Henry has been paying some attention to his sister. He is much attached to her， no doubt， and would lead a lonely life without her， but it would seem the height of selfishness if he were to stand in the way of her making so brilliant a marriage. Yet I am certain that he does not wish their intimacy to ripen into love， and I have several times observed that he has taken pains to prevent them from being tete-a-tete. By the way， your instructions to me never to allow Sir Henry to go out alone will become very much more onerous if a love affair were to beadded to our other difficulties. My popularity would soon suffer if I were to carry out your orders to the letter.　　The other day-Thursday， to be more exact-Dr. Mortimer lunched with us. He has been excavating a barrow at Long Down and has got a prehistoric skull which fills him with great joy. Never was there such a single-minded enthusiast as he! The Stapletons came in afterwards， and the good doctor took us all to the yew alley at Sir Henry's request to show us exactly how everytlung occurred upon that fatal night. It is a long， dismal walk， the yew alley， between two high walls of clipped hedge， with a narrow band of grass upon either side.At the far end is an old tumble-down summer-house. Halfway down is the moorgate， where the old gentleman left his cigar-ash. It is a white wooden gate with a latch. Beyond it lies the wide moor. I remembered your theory of theaffair and tried to picture all that had occurred. As the old man stood there he saw something coming acrbss the moor， something which terrified him'so that he lost his wits and ran and ran until he died of sheer horror and exhaustion.There was the long， gloomy tunnel down which he fled. And from what? A sheep-dog of the moor? Or a spectral hound， black， silent， and monstrous? Was there a human agency in the matter? Did the pale， watchful Barrymore know more than he cared to say? It was all dim and vague， but always there is the dark shadow of crime behind it.　　One other neighbour I have met since I wrote last. This is Mr. Frankland，of Lafter Hall， who lives some four miles to the south of us. He is an elderly man， red-faced， white-haired， and choleric. His passion is for the British law，and he has spent a large fortune in litigation. He fights for the mere pleasure of fighting and is equally ready to take up either side of a question， so that it is no wonder that he has found it a costly amusement. Sometimes he will shut up a right of way and defy the parish to make him open it. At others he will with his own hands tear down some other man's gate and declare that a path has existed there from time immemorial， defying the owner to prosecute him for trespass.　　……