little-used road, until he came to a stretch of pine woods. Then, following a bridle path a mile or more, he came upon a log house.
Everything had an air of sylvan peace in the quiet autumn afternoon. There was nothing to indicate domestic life about the place—the persons who lived within had no garden, no fowls—nothing but the log cabin under the pines. Pembroke knocked loudly with the butt of his riding whip at the rude door, but a voice a little way off answered him.
"Don't waste your strength on the portcullis of the castle. Here I am."
Pembroke followed the sound, leading his horse, and in a minute or two came upon a man of middle age, lying full length on the soft bed of pine needles, with a book and a pipe.
"This is peaceful," said Pembroke, after tethering his horse and seating himself. "At Malvern it is more lonely than peaceful. The house is so large and so empty—Miles and I live in one wing of it. It wasn't half a bad thing for you, Cave, when the doctors ordered you to the pine woods."
Cave nodded.
"It's uncommonly quiet and peaceful, this camping out. As I have no other house to go to, since mine was burned down, it rather bridges over the gulf of appearances to say I am living in a log cabin by command of the most mighty Dr. Sam Jones."
"And there is no loneliness like that of a half
