CHAPTER XI.
A turn in the road brought them within sight of Wyndfell Hall, and--"What a singular, wonderful-looking old place!" exclaimed Dr.
Panton.
And, indeed, there was something mysteriously alluring in the long, gabled building standing almost, as it were, on an island, among the high trees which formed a screen to the house on the north and east sides.

It was something solemn, something appealing--like a melodious, plaintive voice from the long-distant past, out of that Old Country which was the England of six hundred years ago.
"You've no idea how beautiful this place is in summer, Panton--and yet the spring is almost more perfect.

You must come again then, and make a really good, long stay." "Span will enjoy a swim in the moat even now," said the doctor, smiling.
They were going slowly over the narrow brick bridge, and so up to the deep-eaved porch.
A butler and footman appeared as if by magic, and the sound of laughing voices floated from behind them.

There was a pleasant stir of life and bustle about the delightful old house, or so it seemed to the guest.
He jumped out of the car behind his host, then he turned round.

"Span!" he called out.