Chapter7.

TheStapletonsofMerripitHouse

ThefreshbeautyofthefollowingmorningdidsomethingtoeffacefromourmindsthegrimandgreyimpressionwhichhadbeenleftuponbothofusbyourfirstexperienceofBaskervilleHall.AsSirHenryandIsatatbreakfastthesunlightfloodedinthroughthehighmullionedwindows,throwingwaterypatchesofcolourfromthecoatsofarmswhichcoveredthem.Thedarkpanellingglowedlikebronzeinthegoldenrays,anditwashardtorealisethatthiswasindeedthechamberwhichhadstrucksuchagloomintooursoulsupontheeveningbefore.

“Iguessitisourselvesandnotthehousethatwehavetoblame!”saidthebaronet.“Weweretiredwithourjourneyandchilledbyourdrive,sowetookagreyviewoftheplace.Nowwearefreshandwell,soitisallcheerfuloncemore.”

“Andyetitwasnotentirelyaquestionofimagination,”Ianswered.“Didyou,forexample,happentohearsomeone,awomanIthink,sobbinginthenight?”

“Thatiscurious,forIdidwhenIwashalfasleepfancythatIheardsomethingofthesort.Iwaitedquiteatime,buttherewasnomoreofit,soIconcludedthatitwasalladream.”

“Ihearditdistinctly,andIamsurethatitwasreallythesobofawoman.”

“Wemustaskaboutthisrightaway.”HerangthebellandaskedBarrymorewhetherhecouldaccountforourexperience.Itseemedtomethatthepallidfeaturesofthebutlerturnedashadepalerstillashelistenedtohismaster’squestion.

“Thereareonlytwowomeninthehouse,SirHenry,”heanswered.“Oneisthescullery-maid,whosleepsintheotherwing.Theotherismywife,andIcananswerforitthatthesoundcouldnothave