Собака Баскервіллів
Baskerville Hall
Wehadleftthefertilecountrybehindandbeneathus. Welookedbackonitnow,theslantingraysofalowsunturningthestreamstothreadsofgoldandglowingontheredearthnewturnedbytheploughandthebroadtangleofthewoodlands. Theroadinfrontofusgrewbleakerandwilderoverhugerussetandoliveslopes,sprinkledwithgiantboulders. Nowandthenwepassedamoorlandcottage,walledandroofedwithstone,withnocreepertobreakitsharshoutline. Suddenlywelookeddownintoacup-likedepression,patchedwithstuntedoaksandfirswhichhadbeentwistedandbentbythefuryofyearsofstorm. Twohigh,narrowtowersroseoverthetrees. Thedriverpointedwithhiswhip.
"BaskervilleHall,"saidhe.
Itsmasterhadrisenandwasstaringwithflushedcheeksandshiningeyes. Afewminuteslaterwehadreachedthelodge-gates,amazeoffantastictraceryinwroughtiron,withweather-bittenpillarsoneitherside,blotchedwithlichens,andsurmountedbytheboars’headsoftheBaskervilles. Thelodgewasaruinofblackgraniteandbaredribsofrafters,butfacingitwasanewbuilding,halfconstructed,thefirstfruitofSirCharles’sSouthAfricangold.
Throughthegatewaywepassedintotheavenue,wherethewheelswereagainhushedamidtheleaves,andtheoldtreesshottheirbranchesinasombretunneloverourheads. Baskervilleshudderedashelookedupthelong,darkdrivetowherethehouseglimmeredlikeaghostatthefartherend.
"Wasithere? "heaskedinalowvoice.
"No,no,theYewAlleyisontheotherside."
Theyoungheirglancedroundwithagloomyface.
