This was a gloomy, low, square house, without any light in the windows, roughly built of wood and stone, as I saw when I drew nearer.

For knowing it to be Carver's dwelling (or at least suspecting so, from some words of Lorna's), I was led by curiosity, and perhaps by jealousy, to have a closer look at it.

Therefore, I crept up the stream, losing half my sense of fear, by reason of anxiety.

And in truth there was not much to fear, the sky being now too dark for even a shooter of wild fowl to make good aim.

And nothing else but guns could hurt me, as in the pride of my strength I thought, and in my skill of single-stick.
Nevertheless, I went warily, being now almost among this nest of cockatrices.