But I was eager to get back to my charge. The melancholy of themoor， the death of the unfortunate pony， the weird sound whichhad been associated with the grim legend of the Baskervilles， allthese things tinged my thoughts with sadness. Then on the top ofthese more or less vague impressions there had come the definiteand distinct warning of Miss Stapleton， delivered with suchintense earnestness that I could not doubt that some grave anddeep reason lay behind it. I resisted all pressure to stay for lunch，and I set off at once upon my return journey， taking the grassgrownpath by which we had come.
It seems， however， that there must have been some short cutfor those who knew it， for before I had reached the road I wasastounded to see Miss Stapleton sitting upon a rock by the side ofthe track. Her face was beautifully flushed with her exertions， andshe held her hand to her side.
“I have run all the way in order to cut you off， Dr. Watson，” saidshe. “I had not even time to put on my hat. I must not stop， or mybrother may miss me. I wanted to say to you how sorry I am aboutthe stupid mistake I made in thinking that you were Sir Henry.
Please forget the words I said， which have no application whateverto you.”
“But I can’t forget them， Miss Stapleton，” said I. “I am Sir Henry’sfriend， and his welfare is a very close concern of mine. Tell me why itwas that you were so eager that Sir Henry should return to London.”
“A woman’s whim， Dr. Watson. When you know me better youwill understand that I cannot always give reasons for what I say ordo.”
“No， no. I remember the thrill in your voice. I remember thelook in your eyes. Please， please， be frank with me， Miss Stapleton，for ever since I have been here I have been conscious of shadowsall round me. Life has become like that great Grimpen Mire， withlittle green patches everywhere into which one may sink and withno guide to point the track. Tell me then what it was that youmeant， and I will promise to convey your warning to Sir Henry.”
An expression of irresolution passed for an instant over her face，but her eyes had hardened again when she answered me.
“You make too much of it， Dr. Watson，” said she. “My brotherand I were very much shocked by the death of Sir Charles. Weknew him very intimately， for his favourite walk was over the moorto our house. He was deeply impressed with the curse which hungover the family， and when this tragedy came I naturally felt thatthere must be some grounds for the fears which he had expressed.
I was distressed therefore when another member of the familycame down to live here， and I felt that he should be warned of thedanger which he will run. That was all which I intended to convey.
“But what is the danger？”
“You know the story of the hound？”
“I do not believe in such nonsense.”
“But I do. If you have any influence with Sir Henry， take himaway from a place which has always been fatal to his family. Theworld is wide. Why should he wish to live at the place of danger？”
“Because it is the place of danger. That is Sir Henry’s nature. Ifear that unless you can give me some more definite informationthan this it would be impossible to get him to move.”
“I cannot say anything definite， for I do not know anythingdefinite.”
“I would ask you one more question， Miss Stapleton. If youmeant no more than this when you first spoke to me， why shouldyou not wish your brother to overhear what you said？ There isnothing to which he， or anyone else， could object.”
“My brother is very anxious to have the Hall inhabited， for hethinks that it is for the good of the poor folk upon the moor. Hewould be very angry if he knew that I have said anything whichmight induce Sir Henry to go away. But I have done my duty nowand I will say no more. I must get back， or he will miss me andsuspect that I have seen you. Good-bye！” She turned and haddisappeared in a few minutes among the scattered boulders， whileI， with my soul full of vague fears， pursued my way to BaskervilleHall.
First Report of Dr. Watson
From this point onward I will follow the course of events bytranscribing my own letters to Mr. Sherlock Holmes which liebefore me on the table. One page is missing， but otherwise theyare exactly as written and show my feelings and suspicions of themoment more accurately than my memory， clear as it is uponthese tragic events， can possibly do.
BASKERVILLE HALL， October 13th.
MY DEAR HOLMES：
My previous letters and telegrams have kept you pretty wellup to date as to all that has occurred in this most God-forsakencorner of the world. The longer one stays here the more does thespirit of the moor sink into one’s soul， its vastness， and also itsgrim charm. When you are once out upon its bosom you have leftall traces of modern England behind you， but on the other hand，you are conscious everywhere of the homes and the work of theprehistoric people. On all sides of you as you walk are the housesof these forgotten folk， with their graves and the huge monolithswhich are supposed to have marked their temples. As you look attheir gray stone huts against the scarred hillsides you leave yourown age behind you， and if you were to see a skin-clad， hairy mancrawl out from the low door fitting a flint-tipped arrow on to thestring of his bow， you would feel that his presence there was morenatural than your own. The strange thing is that they should havelived so thickly on what must always have been most unfruitfulsoil. I am no antiquarian， but I could imagine that they were someunwarlike and harried race who were forced to accept that whichnone other would occupy.
All this， however， is foreign to the mission on which you sent meand will probably be very uninteresting to your severely practicalmind. I can still remember your complete indifference as to whetherthe sun moved round the earth or the earth round the sun. Let me，therefore， return to the facts concerning Sir Henry Baskerville.
If you have not had any report within the last few days it isbecause up to to-day there was nothing of importance to relate.
