Reynolds on his part, being anxious for beer, showed no disposition to move, but sat with stolid indifference, loosely holding the reins while Strawberry, the old mare, hung down her head and stamped from time to time in a feeble and antiquated fashion.

For some minutes there was total silence.
Not a step was to be heard upon the road, not a sound of any kind, save the strong east wind rushing past the cottage and losing itself among the withered oaks of the park opposite.
Suddenly a deep and bell-mouthed note resounded through the air.
Strawberry started in the shafts and trembled violently.
"Stamboul! Stamboul!" The squire's ringing voice was heard far up the park.

The bloodhound's distant baying suddenly ceased.

John thought he heard a fainter cry, inarticulate, and full of distress, through the sighing wind.

Then there was silence again.