CHAPTER XIII.
HIS ESCAPE FROM THE HOUSE, WITH VARIOUS ADVENTURES FOLLOWING.
He started at the funereal aspect of the room, into which, since he last stood there, undertakers seemed to have stolen.

The curtains of the window were festooned with long weepers of crape.

The four corners of the red cloth on the round table were knotted with crape.
Knowing nothing of these mournful customs of the country, nevertheless, Israel's instinct whispered him that Squire Woodcock lived no more on this earth.

At once the whole three days' mystery was made clear.

But what was now to be done?
His friend must have died very suddenly; most probably struck down in a fit, from which he never more rose.