The Early Short Fiction of Edith Wharton | Page 5

of its window-frames another dog stood: a large
white pointer with one brown ear. He was an old grave dog, much more
experienced than the others; and he seemed to be observing me with a
deeper intentness.
"I'll hear from HIM," I said to myself; but he stood in the empty
window-frame, against the trees of the park, and continued to watch me
without moving. I looked back at him for a time, to see if the sense that
he was being watched would not rouse him. Half the width of the court
lay between us, and we stared at each other silently across it. But he did
not stir, and at last I turned away. Behind me I found the rest of the
pack, with a newcomer added: a small black greyhound with pale
agate-coloured eyes. He was shivering a little, and his expression was
more timid than that of the others. I noticed that he kept a little behind
them. And still there was not a sound.
I stood there for fully five minutes, the circle about me-- waiting, as
they seemed to be waiting. At last I went up to the little golden-brown
dog and stooped to pat him. As I did so, I heard myself laugh. The little
dog did not start, or growl, or take his eyes from me--he simply slipped
back about a yard, and then paused and continued to look at me. "Oh,

hang it!" I exclaimed aloud, and walked across the court toward the
well.
As I advanced, the dogs separated and slid away into different corners
of the court. I examined the urns on the well, tried a locked door or two,
and up and down the dumb facade; then I faced about toward the chapel.
When I turned I perceived that all the dogs had disappeared except the
old pointer, who still watched me from the empty window-frame. It
was rather a relief to be rid of that cloud of witnesses; and I began to
look about me for a way to the back of the house. "Perhaps there'll be
somebody in the garden," I thought. I found a way across the moat,
scrambled over a wall smothered in brambles, and got into the garden.
A few lean hydrangeas and geraniums pined in the flower-beds, and the
ancient house looked down on them indifferently. Its garden side was
plainer and severer than the other: the long granite front, with its few
windows and steep roof, looked like a fortress-prison. I walked around
the farther wing, went up some disjointed steps, and entered the deep
twilight of a narrow and incredibly old box-walk. The walk was just
wide enough for one person to slip through, and its branches met
overhead. It was like the ghost of a box-walk, its lustrous green all
turning to the shadowy greyness of the avenues. I walked on and on,
the branches hitting me in the face and springing back with a dry rattle;
and at length I came out on the grassy top of the chemin de ronde. I
walked along it to the gate-tower, looking down into the court, which
was just below me. Not a human being was in sight; and neither were
the dogs. I found a flight of steps in the thickness of the wall and went
down them; and when I emerged again into the court, there stood the
circle of dogs, the golden- brown one a little ahead of the others, the
black greyhound shivering in the rear.
"Oh, hang it--you uncomfortable beasts, you!" I exclaimed, my voice
startling me with a sudden echo. The dogs stood motionless, watching
me. I knew by this time that they would not try to prevent my
approaching the house, and the knowledge left me free to examine
them. I had a feeling that they must be horribly cowed to be so silent
and inert. Yet they did not look hungry or ill-treated. Their coats were
smooth and they were not thin, except the shivering greyhound. It was

more as if they had lived a long time with people who never spoke to
them or looked at them: as though the silence of the place had
gradually benumbed their busy inquisitive natures. And this strange
passivity, this almost human lassitude, seemed to me sadder than the
misery of starved and beaten animals. I should have liked to rouse them
for a minute, to coax them into a game or a scamper; but the longer I
looked into their fixed and weary eyes the more preposterous the idea
became. With the windows of that house looking down on us, how
could I have imagined such a thing? The dogs knew better: THEY
knew what the house would tolerate and what it would not. I even
fancied