Sir John Dering by Jeffery Farnol

Ten o'clock was striking, and the old Cross, deserted and solitary, looked down upon a silent village; and Sir John Dering, leaning out from his open lattice, looked down upon the old Cross. Alfriston slept, and had done so for an hour or more apparently, like the highly decorous community it was; not a footfall disturbed its chaste silence, not a light glimmered anywhere.

A mournful wind moaned in fitful gusts, the signboard of ‘The Star,' farther down the street, creaked dismally, but, save for this, all was brooding peace and reposeful silence.