LA CAN DE LA BASKERVILLES
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Capitol 6: Cason Baskerville

Chapter 6. Baskerville Hall

Sir Henry Baskerville e Dr Mortimer ia es preparada a la dia asiniada, e como organizada nos ia comensa en via a Devon. Sr Sherlock Holmes ia viaja con me a la stasion e ia dona a me sua instruis final e conselas de parti.

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.

“Me no va influe tua mente par sujesta teorias o suspetas, Watson.” – el ia dise. “Me vole simple ce tu reporta a me fatos en manera tan completa como posible, e tu pote lasa a me la teori.”

“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.”

“Cual tipo de fatos?” – me ia demanda.

“What sort of facts?” I asked.

“Cualce cosa cual va pare ave cisa un pertine, an si nondireta, a la caso, e spesial la relatas entre la joven Baskerville e sua visinas o cualce detalias nova a tema de la mori de Sir Charles. Me mesma ia fa alga demandas en la poca dias pasada, ma la resultas ia es, regretable, negativa. Un sola cosa pare es serta, e esta es ce Sr James Desmond, ci es la eritor seguente, es un senior vea de disposa multe amin, tal ce esta persegue no orijina de el. Me opina vera ce nos pote intera elimina el de nosa calculas. Restante es la persones ci en efeto va ensirca Sir Henry Baskerville sur la stepe.”

“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.”

“Esce lo no ta es bon si inisial nos ta desprende acel duple Barrymore?”

“Would it not be well in the first place to get rid of this Barrymore couple?”

“En no modo. On no ta pote era plu. Si los es inosente, lo ta es cruel nonjusta, e si los es culpable, nos ta sede tota posible de revela sua partisipa. No, no, nos va conserva los en nosa lista de suspetadas. Plu, on ave un stalor a la Cason, si me recorda bon. On ave du cultivores de stepe. On ave nosa ami Dr Mortimer, ci a mea crede es intera onesta, e on ave sua sposa, sur ci nos sabe no cosa. On ave plu acel naturiste, Stapleton, e on ave sua sore, ci on descrive como un fem joven e atraosa. On ave Sr Frankland, de Cason Lafter, ci es ance un fator nonconoseda, e on ave un o du otra visinas. Estas es la persones ci tu debe studia multe spesial.”

“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.”

“Me va fa la plu bon cual me pote.”

“I will do my best.”

“Tu ave un arma, me suposa?”

“You have arms, I suppose?”

“Si, lo ia pare bon a me ce me porta lo.”

“Yes, I thought it as well to take them.”

“Multe serta. Teni prosima tua revolver tra note e dia, e cade nunca tua cautia.”

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

Nosa amis ia oteni ja un vagon de clase prima e ia espeta nos sur la plataforma.

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

“No, nos ave no novas de cualce spesie.” – Dr Mortimer ia dise en responde a la demandas de mea ami. “Me pote jura un sola cosa, e esta es ce nos no ia es segueda en la du dias pasada. Nos ia sorti nunca sin vijila agu, e no person ia ta pote evita nosa persepi.”

“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.”

“Vos ia resta sempre con lunlotra, me suposa?”

“You have always kept together, I presume?”

“Estra en la posmedia ier. Me dedica usual un dia a sola divertis cuando me veni a London, donce me ia pasa lo en la Museo de la Scola de Sirurjistes.”

“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.”

“E me ia vade per regarda la popla en la parce.” – Baskerville ia dise. “Ma nos no ia encontra turbas de cualce tipo.”

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

“Lo ia es noncauta, an tal.” – Holmes ia dise, secutente sua testa con aspeta multe seria. “Me prea, Sir Henry, ce tu no va pasea solitar. Alga mal fortuna grande va aveni a tu si tu fa tal. Esce tu ia trova tua otra bota?”

“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?”

“No, senior, lo es perdeda per sempre.”

“No, sir, it is gone forever.”

“Vera. Esta es multe interesante. Bon, adio.” – el ia ajunta cuando la tren ia comensa lisca longo la plataforma. “Teni en mente, Sir Henry, un de la frases en acel vea lejenda strana cual Dr Mortimer ia leje a nos, e evita la stepe en acel oras de oscuria cuando la potias de malia es altida.”

“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.”

Me ia regarda denova la plataforma cuando nos ia distanti multe de lo e ia vide la figur alta e sever de Holmes ci ia sta nonmovente con fas dirijeda a nos.

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

La viaja ia es rapida e plasente, e me ia pasa lo en conose plu intima mea du acompaniores e en jua con la spaniel de Dr Mortimer. Pos vera poca oras, la tera brun ia deveni rojin, la brices ia cambia a granito, e boves roja ia come a pasto en campos de sepes bela do la erbas rica e plantas plu abundante ia anunsia un clima plu lusosa, an si plu umida. La joven Baskerville ia fisa sua regarda zelosa tra la fenetra e ia esclama a vose deletada cuando el ia reconose la cualias familiar de la vista de Devon.

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 familiar features of the Devon scenery.

“Me ia traversa un parte grande de la mundo pos parti de asi, Dr Watson,” – el ia dise – “ma me ia vide nunca un loca comparable.”

“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.”

“Me ia vide nunca un om de Devon ci no es fidosa a sua contia.” – me ia comenta.

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

“Lo depende tan multe de la tipo de person como de la contia.” – Dr Mortimer ia dise. “Un regardeta a nosa ami asi revela la testa ronda de la celtas, cual porta en se la zelo e potia liante celta. La testa de la povre Sir Charles ia es de tipo multe rara, partal gailica, partal eres en sua cualias. Ma tu ia es multe joven a la ves ultima cuando tu ia vide Cason Baskerville, no?”

“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?”

“Me ia es un xico adolesente a la tempo de la mori de mea padre, e ia vide nunca la Cason, car el ia abita un caseta peti a la costa sude. De ala me ia vade direta a un ami en la Statos Unida. Me afirma ce tota es egal nova a me como a Dr Watson, e me es masima zelosa per vide la stepe.”

“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.”

“Si? Alora, tua desira es fasil per reali, car on ave asi tua vide prima de la stepe.” – Dr Mortimer ia dise, indicante tra la fenetra de la vagon.

“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.

Supra la cuadros verde de la campos e la curva basa de un bosce, un colina gris e melancolica ia leva en la distantia, con culmina strana e sierin, nonclar e neblin en la distantia, como alga vista fantasin en un sonia. Baskerville ia senta tra tempo longa, con sua oios fisada a lo, e me ia leje de sua fas zelosa cuanto esta sinifia a el, esta vide prima de acel loca strana do la persones de sua sangue ia domina tan longa e ia lasa sua marca tan profonda. Ala el ia senta, con sua completa de tuid e sua vose american, en la angulo de un vagon de ferovia prosin, e an tal, cuando me ia regarda sua fas oscur e espresosa, me ia senti an plu ce el es un desendente tan vera de acel linia longa de omes nobil, focosa e mestrin. Orgulo, coraje e fortia ia es contenida en sua suprasiles densa, sua narinas delicata e sua oios grande de color de nozeta. Si sur acel stepe menasante un aventura difisil e perilosa ta sta ante nos, esta ia es a la min un camerada per ci on ta pote emprende un risca con la sabe serta ce el ta comparti corajosa lo.

Over the green squares of the fields and the low curve of a wood there rose in the distance a grey, 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.

La tren ia para a un stasion peti a lado de un via, e tota de nos ia sorti. A estra, ultra la serca basa e blanca, un vagoneta ia espeta con un duple de cavalos. Nosa ariva ia es evidente un aveni major, car la xef de stasion e la portores ia asembla sirca nos per porta nosa bagaje a estra. Lo ia es un loca dulse e simple de campania, ma me ia es surprendeda par oserva ce du omes soldatin en uniformas oscur ia sta a la sorti, apoiante se sur sua fusiles corta e regardante nos con atende cuando nos ia pasa. La caror, un om peti de fas dur e ru, ia saluta Sir Henry Baskerville, e pos un pico de minutos nos ia freta rapida longo la via larga e blanca. Pastos ondin ia curvi a supra a cada lado de nos, e la frontones de casas vea ia es videtable tra la folias densa verde, ma, ultra la campania pasosa solosa, ia es sempre levante, oscur contra la sielo de sera, la curva longa e sombre de la stepe, interompeda par la colinas sierin menasante.

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 hard-faced, 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.

La vagoneta ia pivote a sur un via ladal, e nos ia curvi a supra longo ruas profonda, gastada par sentenios de rotas, con inclinadas alta a cada lado, pesosa con mos gotante e filises spesa linguin. Rubos manxosa e filises bronzin ia sintili en la lus de la sol reposante. Ancora constante asendente, nos ia traversa un ponte streta de granito e ia contorni un rieta ruidosa cual ia jeta rapida a su, spumante e rujinte entre la rocones gris. La via como ance la rieta ia serpe a supra tra un vale densa con abetos e cuercos arboretin. A cada turna, Baskerville ia emete un esclama de deleta, zelosa regardante sirca se con demandas noncontable. A sua oios, tota ia pare bela, ma a me un tinje de melancolia ia covre la campania, cual ia mostra tan clar la marcas de la anio descresente. Folias jala ia tapeti la ruas e ia desende en voleta a nos ci pasa. La clace de nosa rotas ia es estinguida cuando nos ia viaja tra montones de plantas putrinte – donadas triste, en mea opina, lansada par la Natur ante la caro de la eritor reveninte de la Baskervilles.

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 grey 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.

“Alo!” – Dr Mortimer ia esclama. “Cua es esta?”

“Halloa!” cried Dr. Mortimer, “what is this?”

Un curva presipe de tera covreda par erica, un protende distante de la stepe, ia estende ante nos. Sur la culmina, dur e clar como un sculta de cavalor sur sua pedestal, ia es un soldato montante, oscur e sever, con sua fusil posada e preparada sur sua braso basa. El ia vijila la via longo cual nos viaja.

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.

“Cua es esta, Perkins?” – Dr Mortimer ia demanda.

“What is this, Perkins?” asked Dr. Mortimer.

Nosa caror ia turna partal sur sua seja.

Our driver half turned in his seat.

“Un prisonida ia fuji de la prison en Princetown, senior. El es libre tra tre dias ja, e la gardores vijila cada via e cada stasion, ma los ancora no ia vide el. La cultivores en esta parte no gusta lo, senior, e acel es vera.”

“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.”

“Ma me comprende ce los reseta sinco paundes si los pote dona informa.”

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

“Si, senior, ma la posible de sinco paundes es mera un cosa povre en compara con la posible de un garga taliada. Vide, el no es un prisonida de tipo comun. Esta es un om ci va esita ante no cosa.”

“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.”

“Ci el es, alora?”

“Who is he, then?”

“El es Selden, la mator de Notting Hill.”

“It is Selden, the Notting Hill murderer.”

Me ia recorda bon la caso, car lo ia es un cual ia interesa Holmes par causa de la ferosia noncomun de la crimin e la violentia savaje cual ia marca tota la atas de la asasinor. La redui de sua condena de mori ia resulta de alga dutas sur la completia de sua sania mental, car sua condui ia es tan odiable. Nosa vagoneta ia ateni la culmina de un colineta e ante nos la estende vasta de la stepe ia leva, manxada par tumuletas e apicos ru e presipe. Un venta fria ia desende forte de lo e ia fa ce nos trema. A alga loca ala, sur acel plano desertin, esta om vil ia furtivi, ascondente en un buco como un bestia savaje, con cor plen de malvole contra la raza intera cual ia espulsa el. Sola esta ia manca per completi la sujestosia macabre de la tereno esposada, la venta frinte e la sielo oscurinte. An Baskerville ia silenti e ia tira plu prosima a se sua jacon.

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 cairns 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.

Nos ia lasa la campania fertil pos e su nos. Aora nos ia reregarda lo, con ce la raios diagonal de un sol basa ia cambia la rietas a filos de oro e ia brilia sur la tera roja de aradi nova e la marania larga de la bosces. La via ante nos ia deveni plu sombre e savaje sur inclinadas enorme de brun rojin e oliva, con rocones jigante sperdeda. De ves a ves nos ia pasa un caseta de stepe, con mures e teto de petra, sin planta rampente per interompe sua contorno dur. Subita nos ia regarda a su en un depresa tasin, con asi e ala cuercos e abetos malcreseda cual ia es torseda e curvida par la furia de anios de tempestas. Du tores alta e streta ia leva supra la arbores. La caror ia indica par sua flajelo.

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 firs 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.

“Cason Baskerville.” – el ia dise.

“Baskerville Hall,” said he.

Sua mestre ia sta se e ia es regardante con jenas rojida e oios briliante. Pos alga minutos nos ia ateni la portones de entra, un labirinto de traseria fantasin en fero forjada, con colonas gastada par clima a cada lado, manxada par licenes, e suportante la senglares eraldial de la Baskervilles. La casa de porton ia es un ruinada de granito negra e costelas de faxones esposada, ma fasante lo ia es un construida nova, partal completa, la fruta prima de la oro sudafrican de Sir Charles.

Its master had risen and was staring with flushed cheeks and shining eyes. A few minutes later we had reached the lodge-gates, a maze of fantastic tracery in wrought iron, with weather-bitten pillars on either side, blotched with lichens, and surmounted 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.

Tra la porton nos ia pasa sur la rueta de asede, do la rotas ia es denova mudida entre la folias, e la arbores vea ia xuta sua ramos en un tunel sombre supra nosa testas. Baskerville ia fa un trema en regarda la rua longa e oscur asta do la casa ia sintili como un fantasma a la fini plu distante.

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.

“Esce lo ia aveni asi?” – el ia demanda en vose cuieta.

“Was it here?” he asked in a low voice.

“No, no, la rueta de taxos es a la otra lado.”

“No, no, the yew alley is on the other side.”

La eritor joven ia regarda sirca se con fas lamentin.

The young heir glanced round with a gloomy face.

“Lo no es stonante ce mea tio ia senti como si turbas menasa el en un tal loca como esta.” – el ia dise. “Lo sufisi per asusta cualcun. Me va erije un linia de lampas eletrical asi en min ca ses menses, e vos no va reconose la loca, con un jenerador de mil candelas asi, direta ante la porte de la cason.”

“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.”

La rueta ia abri a un estende larga de sespe, e la casa ia sta ante nos. En la lus diminuinte, me ia pote vide ce la sentro ia es un construida blocin pesosa de cual un portico ia protende. La fronte intera ia porta un cortina de edera, con asi e ala un peso cortida a nudia do un fenetra o un scermo eraldial ia penetra la velo oscur. De esta bloco sentral la tores jemelo ia leva, antica, merlonida e perforada par multe ranures de flexa. A destra e sinistra de la toretas ia es alas plu moderna de granito negra. Un lus mate ia veni tra fenetras de maineles pesosa, e, de la ximines alta cual ia asende de la teto presipe e alta angulida, un sola colona negra de fuma ia salta.

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, crenelated, 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.

“Bonveni, Sir Henry! Bonveni a Cason Baskerville!”

“Welcome, Sir Henry! Welcome to Baskerville Hall!”

Un om alta ia emerji de la ombra de la portico per abri la porte de la vagoneta. La figur de un fem ia es siluetada contra la lus jala de la atrio. El ia sorti e ia aida la om a basi nosa sacos.

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.

“Lo no va irita tu si me viaja direta a casa, Sir Henry?” – Dr Mortimer ia dise. “Mea sposa espeta me.”

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

“Ma serta tu va resta per alga come de sera?”

“Surely you will stay and have some dinner?”

“No, me debe vade. Probable me va trova alga labora espetante me. Me ta resta per mostra a vos la casa, ma Barrymore va es un gidor plu bon ca me. Asta revide, e esita nunca ante clama me en note o dia si me pote servi vos.”

“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.”

La sona de la rotas ia mudi longo la rueta en cuando Sir Henry e me ia diverje a la atrio, e la porte ia pumi pesosa pos nos. Lo ia es un sala bela en cual nos ia trova nos, grande, alta, e forte xevronida con faxones enorme de cuerco negrida par tempo. En la ximineria grande e anticin pos la portatroncos de fero alta, un foco de ramones ia crepita e clica. Sir Henry e me ia estende nosa manos a lo, car nos ia es nonsensosa pos nosa viaja longa. Alora nos ia regarda sirca nos la fenetra alta e streta de vitro colorida vea, la paneles de cuerco, la testas de servos, la scermos eraldial sur la mures, tota oscur e sombre en la lus mate de la lampa sentral.

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.

“Lo es esata como me ia imajina lo.” – Sir Henry ia dise. “Esce lo no es la imaje mesma de un casa vea de familia? La idea ce esta es la mesma cason en cual tra sincosento anios mea relatadas ia abita! Me es colpada par sentis seria en pensa lo.”

“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.”

Me ia vide ce sua fas oscur es luminada par un zelo enfantin cuando el regarda sirca se. La lus ia brilia forte a el do el ia sta, ma ombras longa ia desende la mures e ia pende como un baldacin negra supra el. Barrymore ia reveni pos prende nosa bagaje a nosa salas. El ia sta ante nos aora con la manera discreta de un servor bon instruida. El ia es un om de aspeta notable, alta, bela, con barba negra cuadro e cualias pal e diniosa.

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.

“Esce tu desira ce on servi la come aora, senior?”

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

“Lo es preparada?”

“Is it ready?”

“Pos vera poca minutos, senior. Tu va trova acua calda en vosa salas. Mea sposa e me va resta con plaser con tu, Sir Henry, asta cuando tu va completi tua reordina de la cosas, ma tu va comprende ce, en la situa nova, esta casa va nesesa un ecipo sustantial de empleadas.”

“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.”

“Cual situa nova?”

“What new conditions?”

“Me ia vole mera dise, senior, ce Sir Charles ia ave un vive multe retirada, e nos ia pote contenti sua desiras. Tu, natural, va vole ave plu acompania, e donce tu va nesesa cambias en tua ecipo de empleadas.”

“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.”

“Esce tu intende ce tua sposa e tu desira parti?”

“Do you mean that your wife and you wish to leave?”

“Sola cuando lo va conveni plen a tu, senior.”

“Only when it is quite convenient to you, sir.”

“Ma tua familia es ja con nos tra jeneras plural, no? Me ta regrete comensa mea vive asi par rompe un lia vea de la familia.”

“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.”

Me ia pare deteta alga sinias de emosia sur la fas blanca de la servor xef.

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

“Ance me senti esta, senior, e ance mea sposa. Ma en parla franca, senior, ambos de nos ia gusta vera multe Sir Charles, e sua mori ia xoca nos e ia fa ce esta ambiente dole multe nos. Me teme ce nos va es nunca denova calma de mente en Cason Baskerville.”

“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.”

“Ma cua vos intende fa?”

“But what do you intend to do?”

“Me ave no duta, senior, ce nos va susede institui nos en alga comersia. La jenerosia de Sir Charles ia dona a nos la recursos per esta. E aora, senior, cisa la plu bon me ta mostra la via a vosa salas.”

“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.”

Un galeria cuadro con rel de balustres ia ensirca la parte alta de la cason vea, asedable par un scalera duple. De esta punto sentral, estendente tra la mesura intera de la construida, ia es du coredores longa, de cual tota la salas de dormi ia abri. Mea propre ia es en la mesma ala como lo de Baskerville e cuasi visina a lo. Esta salas ia pare es multe plu moderna ca la parte sentral de la casa, e la paper briliante e candelas cuantiosa ia sutrae a alga grado la impresa sombre cual nosa ariva ia lasa en mea mente.

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.

Ma la sala de come cual ia abri de la atrio ia es un loca de ombra e oscuria. Lo ia es un cambra longa con un grado separante la plataforma do la familia ia senta e la parte plu basa reservada per sua dependentes. A un fini, un balcon per musicistes ia regarda lo de supra. Faxones negra ia xuta traversante supra nosa testas, con un sofito negrida par fuma a ultra. Con series de torxas flaminte per lumina lo, e la color e joia cru de un banceta de moda pasada, lo ia ta deveni cisa plu suave; ma aora, cuando du seniores negra vestida ia senta en la sirculo peti de lus lansada par un lampa covreda, mea vose ia cuieti e mea spirito ia afonda. Un linia nonclar de asendentes, en cada tipo de vestes, de un cavalor elizabetan asta un om brava de la Rejentia, ia basi sua regardas a nos e ia timidi nos par sua acompania silente. Nos ia parla poca, e me, a la min, ia es felis cuando la come ia es finida e nos ia pote retira nos a la biliarderia moderna e fumi un sigareta.

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 black-clothed 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.

“Par la sielo, lo no es un loca multe felisinte.” – Sir Henry ia dise. “Me suposa ce on pote ajusta se per acorda con lo, ma a presente me senti ce me es alga estra la sena. Me no mervelia ce mea tio ia deveni pico nervosa si el ia vive tota solitar en un tal casa como esta. An tal, si lo conveni a tu, nos va vade temprana a leto a esta sera, e cisa la situa va pare plu felisinte en la matina.”

“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 tonight, and perhaps things may seem more cheerful in the morning.”

Me ia tira mea cortinas a lado ante vade a leto e ia regarda a estra tra mea fenetra. Lo ia abri a la spasio erbosa locada ante la porte de la cason. A ultra, du bosces de arbores ia jemi e osila en un venta fortinte. Un duiluna ia penetra la fesures de nubes corsante. En sua lus fria, me ia vide ultra la arbores un franje rompeda de rocas e la curva longa e basa de la stepe melancolica. Me ia clui la cortina, sentinte ce mea impresa ultima conforma a la otras.

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.

E an tal, lo no ia es esata la ultima. Me ia trova ce me es fatigada ma veliada, returnante sin reposa de lado a lado, xercante la dormi cual no ia vole veni. Distante, un campana de orolojo ia bate la cuatris de la oras, ma con esta eseta, un silentia morin ia covre la casa vea. E alora, subita, en la media mesma de la note, un sona ia veni a mea oios, clar, resonante e no malreconosable. Lo ia es la sanglota de un fem, la enspireta amortida e strangulada de algun ci es trinxada par un tristia noncontrolable. Me ia senta me en leto e ia escuta intensa. La ruido no ia pote es distante e ia es serta en la casa. Tra un dui de ora me ia espeta con cada nervo vijilante, ma no otra sona ia veni ultra la campana de la orolojo e la xuxa de la edera sur la mur.

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.