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Know then that in the time of the Great Rebellion this Manor of Baskerville was held by Hugo of that name, nor can it be gainsaid that he was a most wild, profane, and godless man. this Hugo came to love (if so dark a passion may be known) the daughter of a yeoman.
At last in the stress of her fear by the aid of the growth of ivy which covered (and still covers) the south wall she came down from under the eaves, and so homeward across the moor, there being three leagues betwixt the Hall and her father’s farm.
The moon was shining bright upon the clearing, But it was not the sight of her body, nor yet was it that of Hugo Baskerville lying near her, which raised the hair upon the heads of these three dare-devil roysterers, but standing over Hugo there stood a foul thing, a great beast.
And even as they looked the thing tore the throat out of Hugo Baskerville. The 3 shrieked with fear and rode for dear life, still screaming, across the moor. One died that very night of what he had seen, and the other twain were but broken men for the rest of their days.
Yet may we shelter ourselves in the infinite goodness of Providence, which would not punish the innocent beyond that 3rd or 4th generation. To that Providence, I commend you, and counsel to forbear from crossing the moor in those dark hours when the powers of evil are exalted.
What do you make of it Watson?
