Flint House looked a picture of desolation in the chill grey day, wrapped in such silence that Charles's cautious knock seemed to reverberate through the stillness around.

But the knocking, repeated more loudly, aroused no human response.

After waiting awhile the young man pulled the bell.

From within the house a cracked and jangling tinkle echoed faintly, and then quivered into silence.

He rang again, but there was no sound of foot or voice; no noise but the cries of the gulls overhead and the hoarse beat of the sea at the foot of the cliffs.
A cormorant, sitting on a rock near by, twisted its thin neck to stare fearlessly at the visitor.