It was at this point that I had mistaken the way
on my first journey to Friar's Park.
Therefore I proceeded to the right, seeking the entrance, which I was
convinced I should find somewhere within the next two hundred yards.
The lane inclined gently leftward, and presently, as I had
anticipated, I came upon a lodge, overgrown with ivy and but partly
visible beyond the gates which barred the end of the drive.
That this was the entrance to Friar's Park I felt assured, but I had
no intention of seeking admittance in the usual way. Pursuing a high
wall, evidently of great age, which divided the grounds from the road,
I walked on for fully three hundred yards. Here the wall, which
enclosed what had once been the kitchen garden of the monastery, gave
place to a lofty hedge in which I presently discovered a gap wide
enough to allow of my making my way through.
Entering, I found myself in a sort of parkland, boasting many majestic
and venerable trees, elms for the most part. Where the parkland ended
and the woods began it was impossible to make out, but away to my
left I could follow the high wall to where, clearly visible in the
moonlight which at this point was unobstructed by trees, a gate
appeared.
Towards this I made my way, keeping a sharp lookout for those
man-traps of which I had heard, and equally on the alert for any
hidden human presence. Without meeting with any obstacle, however, I
reached the gate--only to find that it was closed and fastened with a
stout padlock.
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