hadneverseentheHall,forhelivedinalittlecottageontheSouthCoast.ThenceIwentstraighttoafriendinAmerica.ItellyouitisallasnewtomeasitistoDr.Watson,andI’maskeenaspossibletoseethemoor.”
“Areyou?Thenyourwishiseasilygranted,forthereisyourfirstsightofthemoor,”saidDr.Mortimer,pointingoutofthecarriagewindow.
Overthegreensquaresofthefieldsandthelowcurveofawoodthereroseinthedistanceagrey,melancholyhill,withastrangejaggedsummit,dimandvagueinthedistance,likesomefantasticlandscapeinadream.Baskervillesatforalongtime,hiseyesfixeduponit,andIreaduponhiseagerfacehowmuchitmeanttohim,thisfirstsightofthatstrangespotwherethemenofhisbloodhadheldswaysolongandlefttheirmarksodeep.Therehesat,withhistweedsuitandhisAmericanaccent,inthecornerofaprosaicrailway-carriage,andyetasIlookedathisdarkandexpressivefaceIfeltmorethaneverhowtrueadescendanthewasofthatlonglineofhigh-blooded,fiery,andmasterfulmen.Therewerepride,valour,andstrengthinhisthickbrows,hissensitivenostrils,andhislargehazeleyes.Ifonthatforbiddingmooradifficultanddangerousquestshouldliebeforeus,thiswasatleastacomradeforwhomonemightventuretotakeariskwiththecertaintythathewouldbravelyshareit.
Thetrainpulledupatasmallwaysidestationandwealldescended.Outside,beyondthelow,whitefence,awagonettewithapairofcobswaswaiting.Ourcomingwasevidentlyagreatevent,forstation-masterandportersclusteredroundustocarryoutourluggage.Itwasasweet,simplecountryspot,butIwassurprisedtoobservethatbythegatetherestoodtwosoldierlymenindarkuniformswholeanedupontheirshortriflesandglancedkeenlyatusaswepassed.Thecoachman,ahard-faced,gnarledlittlefellow,salutedSirHenryBaskerville,andinafewminuteswewereflyingswiftlydownthebroad,whiteroad.Rollingpasturelandscurvedupwardoneithersideofus,andoldgabledhousespeepedoutfromamidthethickgreenfoliage,butbehindthepeacefulandsunlitcountrysidethereroseever,darkagainsttheeveningsky,thelong,gloomycurveofthemoor,brokenbythejaggedandsinisterhills.
Thewagonetteswungroundintoasideroad,andwecurvedupwa