Sherlock Holmes: Hounds of baskerville (in English and Chinese) – 6 Baskerville Hall Baskerville Estate

<h1 class="pgc-h-arrow-right">Baskerville Hall</h1>

< h1 class="pgc-h-arrow-right" > Baskerville Estate</h1>

Sir Henry Baskerville and Dr. Mortimer were ready upon the appointed day, and we started as arranged for Devonshire. Mr. Sherlock Holmes drove with me to the station and gave me his last parting injunctions and advice.

On the appointed day, Sir Henry Baskerville and Dr. Mortimer were ready. We set out for Devon as pre-arranged. Sherlock Holmes and I took the train to the station and gave me some parting instructions and suggestions.

"I will not bias your mind by suggesting theories or suspicions, Watson," said he; "I wish you simply to report facts in the fullest possible manner to me, and you can leave me to do the theorizing."

"I do not wish to put forward all kinds of claims and doubts to influence you, Watson," he said, "I only hope that you will report to me as much detail as possible about the facts, and as for the work of summarizing, let me do it." ”

"What sort of facts?" I asked.

"What are the facts?" I asked.

"Anything which may seem to have a bearing however indirect upon the case, and especially the relations between young Baskerville and his neighbours or any fresh particulars concerning the death of Sir Charles. I have made some inquiries myself in the last few days, but the results have, I fear, been negative. One thing only appears to be certain, and that is that Mr. James Desmond, who is the next heir, is an elderly gentleman of a very amiable disposition, so that this persecution does not arise from him. I really think that we may eliminate him entirely from our calculations. There remain the people who will actually surround Sir Henry Baskerville upon the moor."

"It appears that any facts relating to this case, however indirect, in particular the relationship between the young Baskerville and his neighbours, or any new questions relating to Sir Charles's tyrannical pawns. I personally conducted some investigations the other day, but I am afraid that the results of these investigations will not help. Only one thing seems certain, namely that the next heir, Mr. James Desmond, is an older gentleman with a very good character, so that such persecution will not be his doing. I really think we can completely leave him behind when we think about it, and all that's left is actually the people who surround Henry Baskerville in the moor. ”

"Would it not be well in the first place to get rid ofl this Barrymore couple?"

"Wouldn't it be nice to quit Brimore and the couple first?"

"By no means. You could not make a greater mistake. If they are innocent it would be a cruel injustice, and if they are guilty we should be giving up all chance of bringing it home to them. No, no, we will preserve them upon our list of suspects. Then there is a groom at the Hall, if I remember right. There are two moorland farmers. There is our friend Dr. Mortimer, whom I believe to be entirely honest, and there is his wife, of whom we know nothing. There is this naturalist, Stapleton, and there is his sister, who is said to be a young lady of attractions. There is Mr. Frankland, of Lafter Hall, who is also an unknown factor. and there are one or two other neighbours. These are the folk who must be your very special study."

"Don't do this, or you'll make the worst mistake." It would be unjust if they were innocent; if they were guilty, they would not be given the sin they deserved. No, no, it can't be that way, we have to put them on the list of suspects. If I remember correctly, there was also a groom, and two farmers from the moor. And our friend Dr. Mortimer, whom I believe is perfectly honest, but we know nothing about his wife. The biologist Stapleton, along with his sister, is said to be a beautiful young woman. And then there's Mr. Frankland of Raiford Manor, who is an unknown figure. There are one or two other neighbors. These are the characters that you have to study in particular. ”

"I will do my best."

"I'm going to do my best."

"You have arms, I suppose?"

"I suppose you're carrying a weapon, right?"

"Yes, I thought it as well to take them."

"Bring it, I also want to bring it well."

"Most certainly. Keep your revolver near you night and day, and never relax your precautions."

"Of course, your revolver should be carried with you day and night, and you can't be careless for a moment."

Our friends had already secured a first-class carriage and were waiting for us upon the platform.

Our friends had booked seats in the first class car and were waiting for us on the platform.

"No, we have no news of any kind," said Dr. Mortimer in answer to my friend's questions. "I can swear to one thing, and that is that we have not been shadowed during the last two days. We have never gone out without keeping a sharp watch, and no one could have escaped our notice."

"No, we haven't heard anything from us," mortimer said in response to my friend's question, "but one thing I can assure you, we weren't being watched the first two days." When we go out, there is not a single time that is not attentive to observation, and no one can escape from our eyes. ”

"You have always kept together, I presume?"

"I guess you're always together, right?"

"Except yesterday afternoon. I usually give up one day to pure amusement when I come to town, so I spent it at the Museum of the College of Surgeons."

"Except yesterday afternoon. Every time I come into town, I always have to spend the whole day entirely on recreation, so I spend the whole afternoon of yesterday in the exhibition hall of the College of Surgeons. ”

"And I went to look at the folk in the park," said Baskerville. "But we had no trouble of any kind."

"I went to the park to see the bustle," said Baskerville, "but we didn't have any trouble." ”

"It was imprudent, all the same," said Holmes, shaking his head and looking very grave. "I beg, Sir Henry, that you will not go about alone. Some great misfortune will befall you if you do. Did you get your other boot?"

"In any case, it is still too negligent," said Holmes, shaking his head solemnly, "Sir Henry, I beg you not to walk around alone, or you will be in trouble." Have you found another tall leather shoe? ”

"No, sir, it is gone forever."

"No, sir, I can't find it again."

"Indeed. That is very interesting. Well, good-bye," he added as the train began to glide down the platform. "Bear in mind, Sir Henry, one of the phrases in that queer old legend which Dr. Mortimer has read to us and avoid the moor in those hours of darkness when the powers of evil are exalted."

"Indeed, it was a very interesting thing. "Well, goodbye," he said as the train moved slowly along the platform, "Sir Henry, remember the strange and ancient legendary saying that Dr. Mortimer read to us—don't walk through the moor when night falls and the forces of evil are raging. ”

I looked back at the plafform when we had left it far behind and saw the tall, austere figure of Holmes standing motionless and gazing after us.

As we were far from the platform, I looked back and saw Holmes's tall, serious figure still standing there staring at us motionlessly.

The journey was a swift and pleasant one, and I spent it in making the more intimate acquaintance of my two companions and in playing with Dr. Mortimer's spaniel. In a very few hours the brown earth had become ruddy, the brick had changed to granite, and red cows grazed in well-hedged fields where the lush grasses and more luxuriant vegetation spoke of a richer, if a damper, climate. Young Baskerville stared eagerly out of the window and cried aloud with delight as he recognized the familar features of the Devon scenery.

It was a quick and enjoyable trip, during which time I grew closer to my two companions, sometimes playing with Dr. Mortimer's long-eared steak. After a few hours of driving, the brown earth slowly turned red, the brick houses were replaced by stone buildings, the jujube cattle grazed in the well-fenced fields, and the lush meadows and extremely dense vegetable gardens showed that the climate here was humid and easy to harvest. The young Baskerville looked eagerly out the window, and as soon as he recognized the familiar scenery of Devon, he cried out in delight.

"I've been over a good part of the world since I left it, Dr. Watson," said he; "but I have never seen a place to compare with it."

"Since I left here, I've been to many places in the world, Dr. Watson," he said, "but I've never seen a place that compares to this." ”

"l never saw a Devonshire man who did not swear by his county," I remarked.

"I've never met a Devonshire man who doesn't praise his hometown." I said.

"It depends upon the breed of men quite as much as on the county," said Dr. Mortimer. "A glance at our friend here reveals the rounded head of the Celt, which carries inside it the Celtic enthusiasm and power of attachment. Poor Sir Charles's head was of a very rare type, half Gaelic, half Ivernian in its characteristics. But you were very young when you last saw Baskerville Hall, were you not?"

"Not only the geographical conditions of the county, but also the local people are extraordinary." Dr. Mortimer said, "Look at our friend, whose round head is of the Celtic type, and which is full of strong Celtic feelings. The head of poor Sir Charles belongs to a very rare typical, characterized by a half-like Gaelic and half-like Offi. You were very young when you saw the Baskerville Manor before, weren't you? ”

"I was a boy in my teens at the time of my father's death and had never seen the Hall, for he lived in a little cottage on the South Coast. Thence I went straight to a friend in America. I tell you it is all as new to me as it is to Dr. Watson, and I'm as keen as possible to see the moor."

"When my father died, I was a teenager, and he lived in a small house on the south side of the sea, so I never saw the estate. After my father died, I went directly to a friend in the Americas. I tell you that I feel as fresh as Dr. Watson about this estate, and I am very eager to see the moor. ”

"Are you? Then your wish is easily granted, for there is your first sight of the moor," said Dr. Mortimer, pointing out of the carriage window.

"Really? That way, your wish will easily come true because you'll be on the moor. Dr. Mortimer said as he pointed out the car window.

Over the green squares of the fields and the low curve of a wood there rose in the distance a gray, melancholy hill, with a strange jagged summit, dim and vague in the distance, like some fantastic landscape in a dream. Baskerville sat for a long time his eyes fixed upon it, and I read upon his eager face how much it meant to him, this first sight of that strange spot where the men of his blood had held sway so long and left their mark so deep. There he sat, with his tweed suit and his American accent, in the corner of a prosaic railway-carriage, and yet as I looked at his dark and expressive face I felt more than ever how true a descendant he was of that long line of high-blooded, fiery, and masterful men. There were pride, valour, and strength in his thick brows, his sensitive nostrils, and his large hazel eyes. If on that forbidding moor a difficult and dangerous quest should lie before us, this was at least a comrade for whom one might venture to take a risk with the certainty that he would bravely share it.

On the side of the field, which had been cut into countless green squares and the woods at the top of which were connected into low curves, a gray and dark hill rose in the distance, and on the top of the mountain there were strangely shaped and jagged gaps, which looked dark and hazy in the distance, like a dreamy scenery. Baskerville sat still for a long time, his eyes fixed on it. I could see from his eager facial expression how much this place had to do with him, the first time I saw that strange place that had been in the hands of his people for so long and that everywhere could arouse people's deep memories of them. Dressed in Scottish clothing and speaking with an American accent, he sat in the corner of an ordinary train car, but every time I saw his dark and emoticonal face, I felt more and more that he was indeed a descendant of that noble, enthusiastic family, and with the grace of a head of the family. In his thick eyebrows, neurotic nostrils and large maroon eyes, he showed self-esteem, heroism and strength. If something difficult and dangerous happens in that terrible moor, he is at least a reliable companion who will bravely take responsibility.

The train pulled up at a small wayside station and we all descended. Outside, beyond the low, white fence, a wagonette with a pair of cobs was waiting. Our coming was evidently a great event, for station-master and porters clustered round us to carry out our luggage. It was a sweet, simple country spot, but I was surprised to observe that by the gate there stood two soldierly men in dark uniforms who leaned upon their short rifles and glanced keenly at us as we passed. The coachman, a hardfaced, gnarled little fellow, saluted Sir Henry Baskerville, and in a few minutes we were flying swiftly down the broad, white road. Rolling pasture lands curved upward on either side of us, and old gabled houses peeped out from amid the thick green foliage, but behind the peaceful and sunlit countryside there rose ever, dark against the evening sky, the long, gloomy curve of the moor, broken by the jagged and sinister hills.

The train stopped at a small stop on the side of the road, and we all got off. Outside the low white railing, there was a four-wheeled carriage with two short-legged horses waiting there. Our arrival was obviously a big deal, and both the stationmaster and the porter came up to us and carried our luggage. It was supposed to be a quiet, lovely, and unpretentious place, but at the exit, two soldier-like men in black uniforms stood there, and I couldn't help but be surprised. Their bodies leaned on the short rifle, and their eyes looked straight at us as they walked past. The coachman, a short fellow with a cold and rough appearance, paid homage to Henry Baskerville. After a few minutes, we sped along the wide gray-white avenue. Undulating pastures, rising up on both sides of the avenue, through thick green gaps, can see some of the old houses with their walls and roofs repaired in the shape of a glyph, behind the quiet, sun-drenched village, there is a dark moor that is constantly set off by the evening sky, and several jagged and sinister hills are listed in the middle.

The wagonette swung round into a side road, and we curved upward through deep lanes worn by centuries of wheels, high banks on either side, heavy with dripping moss and fleshy hart's-tongue ferns. Bronzing bracken and mottled bramble gleamed in the light of the sinking sun. Still steadily rising, we passed over a narrow granite bridge and skirted a noisy stream which gushed swiftly down, foaming and roaring amid the gray boulders. Both road and stream wound up through a valley dense with scrub oak and fir. At every turn Baskerville gave an exclamation of delight, looking eagerly about him and asking countless questions. To his eyes all seemed beautiful, but to me a tinge of melancholy lay upon the countryside, which bore so clearly the mark of the waning year. Yellow leaves carpeted the lanes and fluttered down upon us as we passed. The rattle of our wheels died away as we drove through drifts of rotting vegetation -- sad gifts, as it seemed to me, for Nature to throw before the carriage of the returning heir of the Baskervilles.

The wagon turned again into a fork in the road, and we crossed the alley-like ditch that had been rolled by the wheels for centuries and sunk deep into the ground, twisting upwards, flanked by stone walls covered with wet moss and a leafy sheep's tooth plant. Bronze ferns and mottled blackberries sparkle in the afterglow of the setting sun. We kept walking upwards, past a narrow granite bridge, and headed forward along a rushing rapid. The water was raging and splashing, roaring through the gray rocks. The road winds its way up a small, winding river in the middle of a canyon of dwarf oak and fir trees. At every turn, Baskerville cheered with joy, and he looked around eagerly, asking us countless questions. In his opinion, everything is beautiful, but I always feel that there is some desolate taste of the countryside in this area and the obvious late autumn scene. The path was covered with dead yellow leaves, and as we passed, some of them fluttered and fell overhead. As our carriage passed over the dead leaves, the sound of the wheels of the dragons fell silent—these things seemed to me to be ominous gifts that the Creator had sprinkled in front of the carts of the descendants of the Baskervilles who had returned home.

"Halloa!" cried Dr. Mortimer, "what is this?"

"Ah!" Dr. Mortimer cried out. "What's that?"

A steep curve of heath-clad land, an outlying spur of the moor, lay in front of us. On the summit, hard and clear like an equestrian statue upon its pedestal, was a mounted soldier, dark and stern, his rifle poised ready over his forearm. He was watching the road along which we travelled.

A steep slope full of evergreen shrubs of the heather class appeared ahead, a place jutting out on the edge of the moor. In the highest place, there was a soldier on a horse, clear, like a statue of a knight mounted on a monument, dark and grim, with a sabre in a position of preparation for radiation on the left arm extended in front. He is monitoring the path we are taking.

"What is this, Perkins?" asked Dr. Mortimer.

"What is that for, Perkins?" Dr. Mortimer asked.

Our driver half turned in his seat. "There's a convict escaped from Princetown, sir. He's been out three days now, and the warders watch every road and every station, but they've had no sight of him yet. The farmers about here don't like it, sir, and that's a fact."

The coachman turned in his seat and said, "Prince Town has escaped a prisoner, sir, he has been out for three days so far, and the guards are monitoring every road and every station, but they have not found any trace of him." The nearby farmers are very upset, sir, this is true. ”

"Well, I understand that they get five pounds if they can give information."

"Ah, I know, if anyone can get a message, they can get a bounty of five pounds."

"Yes, sir, but the chance of five pounds is but a poor thing compared to the chance of having your throat cut. You see, it isn't like any ordinary convict. This is a man that would stick at nothing."

"Yes, sir, but the five pounds that you might get is too pitiful compared to the possibility of having your throat cut off." You know, this is not an ordinary criminal. He was an unscrupulous man. ”

"Who is he, then?"

"So, who is he?"

"It is Selden, the Notting Hill murderer."

"His name is Serdan, and he was the murderer who killed people on Mount Nauting."

I remembered the case well, for it was one in which Holmes had taken an interest on account of the peculiar ferocity of the crime and the wanton brutality which had marked all the actions of the assassin. The commutation of his death sentence had been due to some doubts as to his complete sanity, so atrocious was his conduct. Our wagonette had topped a rise and in front of us rose the huge expanse of the moor, mottled with gnarled and craggy caims and tors. A cold wind swept down from it and set us shivering. Somewhere there, on that desolate plain, was lurking this fiendish man, hiding in a burrow like a wild beast, his heart full of malignancy against the whole race which had cast him out. It needed but this to complete the grim suggestiveness of the barren waste, the chilling wind, and the darkling sky. Even Baskerville fell silent and pulled his overcoat more closely around him.

I remember very clearly that his crime was extremely cruel, and the whole assassination process was through the most atrocities, so that this case aroused the interest of Holmes. His death sentence was later commuted because of the surprising brutality of his actions, and some doubts arose about the soundness of his mental state. Our carriage climbed to the top of the slope, and in front of it appeared a vast moor, dotted with many conical stone mounds and uneven rock hills, with a mottled and strange color. A cold wind blew from the moor and made us all shiver. On that deserted plain, this devilish man, lurking like a beast in an undetermined ravine, was filled with hatred for those who had abandoned him. The bare wasteland, the cold wind and the dark sky, coupled with this fugitive, made it even more terrifying. Even Baskerville was silent, and he wrapped his coat tighter.

We had left the fertile country behind and beneath us. We looked back on it now, the slanting rays of a low sun turning the streams to threads of gold and glowing on the red earth new turned by the plough and the broad tangle of the woodlands. The road in front of us grew bleaker and wilder over huge russet and olive slopes, sprinkled with giant boulders. Now and then we passed a moorland cottage, walled and roofed with stone, with no creeper to break its harsh outline. Suddenly we looked down into a cuplike depression, patched with stunted oaks and fus which had been twisted and bent by the fury of years of storm. Two high, narrow towers rose over the trees. The driver pointed with his whip. "Baskerville Hall," said he.

The fertile countryside had fallen behind us, and we looked back, and the setting sun shone obliquely, illuminating the water like a golden wire, shining on the red land and the vast dense forest that had just been cultivated. The road on the russet and olive slopes ahead became more and more deserted, and boulders were strewn everywhere. We sometimes passed a small house on the moor, the walls and roof were made of stone, and there were no vines on the walls to hide its rough outline. We looked down and suddenly saw a bowl-like depression, with small patches of badly developed oak trees and fir forests that had been bent by the winds of old age. At the top of the woods, two thin and high spires protruded. The coachman pointed with his whip and said, "This is the Baskerville Estate." ”

Its master had risen and was staring with flushed cheeks and shining eyes. A few minutes later we had reached the lodgegates, a maze of fantastic tracery in wrought iron, with weather-bitten pillars on either side, blotched with lichens, and summounted by the boars' heads of the Baskervilles. The lodge was a ruin of black granite and bared ribs of rafters, but facing it was a new building, half constructed, the first fruit of Sir Charles's South African gold.

The owner of the manor stood up, his cheeks flushed and his eyes glaring, and in a few minutes we were at the door of the apartment. The gate is made of dense, winding iron bars intertwined in a marvelous pattern, flanked by a weather-eroded pillar, dirty due to moss, topped with a stone-carved head of a wild boar of the Baskervilles. The concierge had become a pile of collapsed black granite, revealing bare rafters. Opposite it, however, was a brand-new building, halfway up, first built by Sir Charles from gold earned from South Africa.

Through the gateway we passed into the avenue, where the wheels were again hushed amid the leaves, and the old trees shot their branches in a sombre tunnel.over our heads. Baskerville shuddered as he looked up the long, dark drive to where the house glimmered like a ghost at the farther end.

As soon as I entered the gate, I walked up the trail. At this time, the wheels calmed down as they walked on the dead leaves, and the branches of the old tree intertwined into a dark arch above our heads. Crossing the long, dark driveway and seeing a house at the end glowing like a ghost, Baskerville trembled involuntarily.

"Was it here?" he asked in a low voice.

"Is that what happened here?" He asked in a low voice.

"No, no, the yew alley is on the other side."

"No, no, the water pine is on that side."

The young heir glanced round with a gloomy face.

The young heir looked around gloomily.

"It's no wonder my uncle felt as if trouble were coming on him in such a place as this," said he. "It's enough to scare any man. I'll have a row of electric lamps up here inside of six months, and you won't know it again, with a thousand candle-power Swan and Edison right here in front of the hall door."

"In a place like this, it's no wonder that my uncle always felt like he was going to be in serious trouble," he said, "enough to frighten anyone." I decided to install a line of a thousand swan and Edison bulbs in front of the hall within six months, and then you will no longer recognize this place.

The avenue opened into a broad expanse of turf, and the house lay before us. In the fading light I could see that the centre was a heavy block of building from which a porch projected. The whole front was draped in ivy, with a patch clipped bare here and there where a window or a coat of arms broke through the dark veil. From this central block rose the twin towers, ancient, crenellated, and pierced with many loopholes. To right and left of the turrets were more modern wings of black granite. A dull light shone through heavy mullioned windows, and from the high chimneys which rose from the steep, high-angled roof there sprang a single black column of smoke.

The road led to a wide meadow and the house was right in front of us. In the dim light, I could see a solid building in the center, with a corridor protruding from the front. The front of the house was crawling with ivy, and only the windows or places with the coat of arms were cut off, as if they were patched nails on the broken parts of the black mask. The central building is topped by a pair of old towers with gun holes and many lookout holes. On the left and right sides of the tower, there is a new wing made of black granite. Dim light shot into the solid window of the window ledge, and a black column of smoke erupted from the high chimney mounted on the steep and sloping roof.

"Welcome, Sir Henry! Welcome to Baskerville Hall!"

"Welcome, Sir Henry! Welcome to the Baskerville Estate! ”

A tall man had stepped from the shadow of the porch to open the door of the wagonette. The figure of a woman was silhouetted against the yellow light of the hall. She came out and helped the man to hand down our bags.

A tall man stepped out of the shadows of the corridor and opened the door of the carriage. In front of the pale yellow light of the hall, another woman appeared, and she came out to help the man take down our duffel bag.

"You don't mind my driving straight home, Sir Henry?" said Dr. Mortimer. "My wife is expecting me."

"Sir Henry, you don't blame me for rushing straight home, do you?" Dr. Mortimer said, "My wife is waiting for me." ”

"Surely you will stay and have some dinner?"

"You'll have to wait until you've had dinner and then go back."

"No, I must go. I shall probably find some work awaiting me. I would stay to show you over the house, but Barrymore will be a better guide than I. Good-bye, and never hesitate night or day to send for me if I can be of service."

"No, I have to go, maybe there's something waiting for me at home." I should have stayed and showed you the house, but he was a better guide compared to Brimore and me. Goodbye, day and night, if I can help, call me right away. ”

The wheels died away down the drive while Sir Henry and I turned into the hall, and the door clanged heavily behind us. It was a fine apartment in which we found ourselves, large, lofty, and heavily raftered with huge baulks of age-blackened oak. In the great old-fashioned fireplace behind the high iron dogs a log-fire crackled and snapped. Sir Henry and I held out our hands to it, for we were numb from our long drive. Then we gazed round us at the high, thin window of old stained glass, the oak panelling, the stags' heads, the coats of arms upon the walls, all dim and sombre in the subdued light of the central lamp.

As soon as Sir Henry and I entered the hall, the wheels on the path could not be heard, and there was a heavy closing sound behind us. The room we were in was indeed gorgeous, tall and large, densely lined with rafter beams that had turned black due to their age. Behind the tall iron dog statue, inside the huge old-fashioned fireplace, firewood is crackling and burning. Sir Henry and I reached out to the fire for warmth, for the long drive had left us all numb. Later we looked around again and saw that the narrow windows with ancient stained glass, the fine work of the oak panels, the specimens of the stag's head, and the coat of arms hanging on the walls all looked dark and gloomy in the soft light of the central chandelier.

"It's just as I imagined it," said Sir Henry. "Is it not the very picture of an old family home? To think that this should be the same hall in which for five hundred years my people have lived. It strikes me solemn to think of it."

"As I imagined," said Sir Henry, "isn't this exactly what an old family should be?" This is the hall where the people of my family have lived for five hundred years, and the thought of this makes me feel heavy. ”

I saw his dark face lit up with a boyish enthusiasm as he gazed about him. The light beat upon him where he stood, but long shadows trailed down the walls and hung like a black canopy above him. Barrymore had returned from taking our luggage to our rooms. He stood in front of us now with the subdued manner of a well-trained servant. He was a remarkable-looking man, tall, handsome, with a square black beard and pale, distinguished features.

As he looked around, I could see the childlike enthusiasm burning in his dark face. Although there were lights where he stood, the long projections on the walls and the dark ceiling seemed to open a ceiling above his head. Barrymore returned after carrying his luggage into our room. He stands before us with the attitude of obedience characteristic of a well-trained servant. He was an extraordinary man, tall, good-looking, with a square black beard and a fair and brilliant face.

"Would you wish dinner to be served at once, sir?"

"Sir, would you like to have dinner right away?"

"Is it ready?"

"Are you ready?"

"In a very few minutes, sir. You will find hot water in your rooms. My wife and I will be happy, Sir Henry, to stay with you until you have made your fresh arrangements, but you will understand that under the new conditions this house will require a considerable staff."

"Ready in a few minutes, sir. Hot water has been prepared in your house, Sir Henry, and my wife and I would love to stay with you until you make new arrangements, but you must understand that in this new situation this house will require quite a few servants. ”

"What new conditions?"

"What's new?"

"I only meant, sir, that Sir Charles led a very retired life, and we were able to look after his wants. You would, naturally, wish to have more company, and so you will need changes in your household."

"Sir, I mean, Lord Chalze lived a very reclusive life, so we can take care of his needs, and you, of course, want more people to live with you, so you will have to change the family situation." 」

"Do you mean that your wife and you wish to leave?"

"Are you saying that you and your wife want to resign?"

"Only when it is quite convenient to you, sir."

"Sir, of course, this must be done when it is convenient for you."

"But your family have been with us for several generations, have they not? I should be sorry to begin my life here by breaking an old family connection."

"But your family has lived with my family for generations, haven't you?" If I had severed this long-standing family bond by living here in the first place, I would have regretted it. ”

I seemed to discern some signs of emotion upon the butler's white face.

I seemed to see some signs of emotional agitation in the butler's pale face.

"I feel that also, sir, and so does my wife. But to tell the truth, sir, we were both very much attached to Sir Charles and his death gave us a shock and made these surroundings very painful to us. I fear that we shall never again be easy in our minds at Baskerville Hall."

"I feel the same way, sir, my wife too. Truth be told, Sir, both of us have a great respect for Sir Charles, and his death has shocked us greatly, and the surrounding environment here has made us feel very painful everywhere. I am afraid that in the Baskerville estate we will never again find peace in our hearts. ”

"But what do you intend to do?"

"But what do you want to do?"

"I have no doubt, sir, that we shall succeed in establishing ourselves in some business. Sir Charles's generosity has given us the means to do so. And now, sir, perhaps I had best show you to your rooms."

"Sir, I am sure that if we do some business, it will be successful. Lord Charles's generosity has made it possible for us to do so. But now, sir, I'd better show you your room first. ”

A square balustraded gallery ran round the top of the old hall, approached by a double stair. From this central point two long corridors extended the whole length of the building, from which all the bedrooms opened. My own was in the same wing as Baskerville's and almost next door to it. These rooms appeared to be much more modern than the central part of the house, and the bright paper and numerous candles did something to remove the sombre impression which our arrival had left upon my mind.

In the upper part of this ancient hall, there is a square veranda with a back railing, which can only be reached through a double-stacked staircase. Two long corridors stretching out from the central hall run through the building, and all the bedrooms are open to these two corridors. My bedrooms in Baskerville were on the same side and were almost closely adjacent to each other, and they seemed much newer than the style of the rooms in the middle of the building, with brightly colored paste wallpaper and countless candles lit that somewhat erased the gloomy impression that remained in our minds when we first arrived.

But the dining-room which opened out of the hall was a place of shadow and gloom. It was a long chamber with a step separating the dais where the family sat from the lower portion reserved for their dependents. At one end a minstrel's gallery overlooked it. Black beams shot across above our heads, with a smoke-darkened ceiling beyond them. With rows of flaring torches to light it up, and the colour and rude hilarity of an old-time banquet, it might have softened; but now, when two blackclothed gentlemen sat in the little circle of light thrown by a shaded lamp, one's voice became hushed and one's spirit subdued. A dim line of ancestors, in every variety of dress, from the Elizabethan knight to the buck of the Regency, stared down upon us and daunted us by their silent company. We talked little, and I for one was glad when the meal was over and we were able to retire into the modern billiard-room and smoke a cigarette.

But the dining room that opens to the hall is a dark and gloomy place, which is a long room with a staircase dividing the room from the middle into two parts with different heights, the higher part is the place for the family to eat, and the lower part is reserved for the servants. At one end, there is a recital gallery. Dark beams crossed our heads, and above that was the blackened ceiling. If the house were illuminated with a row of flaming torches, in the midst of a colorful and carnivally old feast, this austere atmosphere might be tempered, but now? The two black-clad gentlemen sat in a small aura illuminated from under the lampshade, their voices lowered, and they felt depressed mentally. A row of looming portraits of ancestors, dressed in a variety of costumes, from the knights of the Elizabethan era to the playboys of the regency of Prince George IV, they all look at us with their eyes open, accompany us silently, and intimidate us. We rarely talked, and I was glad that the meal was finally finished and that we could go to the new marbles room and smoke a cigarette.

"My word, it isn't a very cheerful place," said Sir Henry. "I suppose one can tone down to it, but I feel a bit out of the picture at present. I don't wonder that my uncle got a little jumpy if he lived all alone in such a house as this. However, if it suits you, we will retire early to-night, and perhaps things may seem more cheerful in the morning."

"To be honest, I don't think it's really a pleasant place," said Sir Henry, "I thought I could get used to it, but now I always feel that something is wrong." No wonder my uncle became restless living alone in such a house. Ah, if you will, we rest early tonight, and perhaps things will seem more pleasant in the early morning. ”

I drew aside my curtains before I went to bed and looked out from my window. It opened upon the grassy space which lay in front of the hall door. Beyond, two copses of trees moaned and swung in a rising wind. A half moon broke through the rifts of racing clouds. In its cold light I saw beyond the trees a broken fringe of rocks, and the long, low curve of the melancholy moor. I closed the curtain, feeling that my last impression was in keeping with the rest.

I opened the curtains before I went to bed and looked out of the window. The window was open to the grass in front of the hall, and farther away there were two bushes of trees, groaning and swaying in the increasingly strong wind. A semicircular moon emerges from the cracks of the competing clouds. In the dim moonlight, behind the woods, I saw the edges of the mutilated hills and the long, low-lying, slowly undulating gloomy moorlands. I closed the curtains and felt that my impression at that time was still the same as that I had received first.

And yet it was not quite the last. I found myself weary and yet wakeful, tossing restlessly from side to side, seeking for the sleep which would not come. Far away a chiming clock struck out the quarters of the hours, but otherwise a deathly silence lay upon the old house. And then suddenly, in the very dead of the night, there came a sound to my ears, clear, resonant, and unmistakable. It was the sob of a woman, the muffled, strangling gasp of one who is torn by an uncontrollable sorrow. I sat up in bed and listened intently. The noise could not have been far away and was certainly in the house. For half an hour I waited with every nerve on the alert, but there came no other sound save the chiming clock and the rustle of the ivy on the wall.

But that's not the last impression. Although I felt tired, I couldn't sleep, tossing and turning, and the more I wanted to sleep, the more I couldn't sleep. The old houses were shrouded in death-like silence, and in the distance came the chimes of the chimes, beating quarters of an hour and a quarter of an hour. But then, suddenly, in the dead silence of the night, a voice came into my eardrums, clear and loud. There was no mistake, it was the sound of a woman crying, like the forced and choked gasp of a man tormented by uncontrollable grief. I sat up on the bed and listened intently. The sound could not have come from afar, and it was certain that it was in this house. I waited nervously for half an hour with every nerve, but nothing else came from the ringing of the bell and the clatter of the ivy outside the wall.