4. FIVE TO SIX P.MShe followed the road into a bower of trees, overhanging it so
densely that the pass appeared like a rabbit's burrow, and
presently reached a side entrance to the park. The clouds rose more
rapidly than the farmer had anticipated: the sheep moved in a
trail, and complained incoherently. Livid grey shades, like those
of the modern French painters, made a mystery of the remote and
dark parts of the vista, and seemed to insist upon a suspension of
breath. Before she was half-way across the park the thunder rumbled
distinctly.
The direction in which she had to go would take her close by the
old manor-house. The air was perfectly still, and between each low
rumble of the thunder behind she could hear the roar of the
waterfall before her, and the creak of the engine
