The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1911-05-18
CHAPTER I.
THE HEsITATISG STEP.

HE moon rode high, but omi
 nous clouds were rushing to
 ward it-clouds heavy will
 snoE. watche these clouds as I drove recklessly, desperately over the winter roads. I had just missed the desire of my life, the ont precious treasure which I coveted with my whole undisciplined heart and. not being what you call a. mar of self restraint, I was chafed by my defeat far beyond the bounds have usually set for myself
 rode on, hardly conscious of my course, till the rapid recurrence o1 several we'll known landmarks warned me that had taken the longest route home and that in another moment should be skfrting the grounds of the Whispering Pines, our country club house. The season was over and the clubhouse closed, and when, the grea, stack of chimneys coming suddenly into view against the broad disk O. the still unclouded moon, I perceived a thin trail of smoke soaring up from their midst I realized with shock that there should be no such sign of life in a house I myself had closed locked and barred that very day.
 I was the president of the club and felt responsible. I turned in at the lower gateway, For reasons which need not now state there were nc bells attached to my cutter, and con sequently my approach was noiseless n fv1I hat Cr I><, olc careful to stop short of the front door and leave my horse and sleigh in the black depths of the pine grove, press ing up to the walls on either side. l was sure that all was not as it should be inside these walls.
 Our clubhouse stands, as it may be necessary to remind you, on a knoll thickly wooded with the ancient trees I have mentioned. These trees-all pines and of a growth unusual and of an aspect well nigh hoary-extend only to the rear end of the house, where wide stretch of gently un- dulating ground opens at once upon the eye, suggesting to all lovers of golf the admirable use to which it is put from early spring to latest fall. Now links as we'll as parterres and driveways were lying under an even blanket of winter snow. No other building stood with a half mile in any direction.
 I felt the isolation as stepped from the edge of the trees and prepared to cross the few feet of open space lead ing to the main door In some moods l should have paused and thought twice before attempting the door, be- hind which in the dark lurked the un- known with its naturally accompany ing suggestion of peril. But rage and appointment, working hotly within me, had left no space for fear. Rather rejoicing in the doubtfulness of the adventure. I pushed my way over the snow until my feet struck the steps. Here instinct caused me to stop and glance quickly up and down the build ing either way. Not gleam of light met my eye from the smallest scintil- lating pane Was the house as sound less as it was dark?
 listened. but heard nothing. listen cd again and still heard nothing Then l proceeded boldly up the steps and laid my hand on the door.
 It was unlatched and yielded to my touch. Light or no light. sound or nc sound. there was some one within The fire which had sent it's attenuated streak of smoke up into the moonlit air was burning yet on one of the many hearths within. I proceeded to enter and close the door carefully be- hind me. As did so I cast an invol- untary glance without. The sky was fnky, and few wandering flakes of the now rapidly advancing storm came whirling in, biting my cheeks and stinging my forehead.
 Once inside stopped short, possibly to listen again, possibly to assure my self as to what I had best do next. The silence was profound. Not a sound disturbed the great, empty build ing. My own footfall as I stirred seemed to wake extraordinary echoes. I had moved but a few steps. yet to my heightened senses the noise seemed loud enough to wake the dead. h. stinctively I stopped and stood stock still. There was no answering cessa- tion of movement-darkness silence everywhere. Yet not quite absolute