Told in a French Garden | Page 8

to deserve it.
He had looked it over. The situation was healthy. It was convenient to
the city. He could make it in his car in less than forty-five minutes.
They saw what could be done with the place, and did not concern
themselves with why other people had not cared to live there.
Architects, interior decorators, and landscape gardeners were put to
work on it, and, even before the wedding, the place was well on toward
its habitable stage.
Then they were married, and, quite correctly, went abroad to float in a
gondola on the Grand Canal--together; to cross the Gemmi--together;
to stroll about Pompeii and cross to Capri--together; and then ravage
antiquity shops in Paris--together. They returned in the early days of a
glorious September. The house was ready for its master and mistress to
lay the touch of their personality on it, and put in place the trophies of
their Wedding Journey.
The evil look the house once had was gone.
A few old trees had been cut down round it to let in the glorious
autumn sun all over the house, and when, on their first morning, after a
good sound, well-earned sleep, they took their coffee on the terrace off
the breakfast room, under a yellow awning, they certainly did not think,
if they ever had, of the mysterious rumors against the house which had
been whispered about when they first bought it. To them it seemed that
they had never seen a gayer place.
But on the second night, just as the Woman was putting her book aside,
and had a hand stretched out to shut off the light, she stopped--a
carriage was coming up the drive. She sat up, and listened for the bell.
It did not ring. After a few moments--as there was absolutely no sound
of the carriage passing--she got up, and gently pushed the shutter--her
room was on the front--there was nothing there, so, attaching no
importance to it, she went quietly to bed, put out her light, just noticing

as she did so, that it was midnight, and went to sleep. In the morning,
the incident made so little impression on her, that she forgot to even
mention it.
The next night, by some queer trick of memory, just as she went to bed,
the thing came back to her, and she was surprised to find that she had
no sleep in her. Instead of that she kept looking at the clock, and just
before twelve, cold chills began to go down her back, when she heard
the rapid approach of a carriage--this time she was conscious that her
hearing was so keen that she knew there were two horses. She listened
intently--no doubt about it--the carriage had stopped at the door.
Then there was a silence.
She was just convincing herself that there must be some sort of echo
which made it appear that a team passing in the road had come up the
drive--when she was suddenly sure that she heard a hurried step in the
corridor--it passed the door. Now she was naturally a very
unimaginative person, and had never had occasion to know fear. So,
after a bit, she put out her light, saying to herself that a belated servant
was busy with some neglected work--nothing more likely--and she
went to sleep.
Again the morning sunlight, the Man's gay companionship, the
hundreds of delightful things to do, wiped out that bad quarter of an
hour, and again it never occurred to her to mention it.
The next night the remembrance came back so vividly after the Man
had gone to his room, that she regretted she had not at least asked him
if he had heard a carriage pass in the night. Of course she was sure that
he had not. He was such a sound sleeper. Besides, it was not important.
If he had, he would not have been nervous about it. Still, she could not
sleep, and, just before the dining room clock began to chime
midnight--she had never heard it before, and that she heard it now was
a proof of how her whole body was listening--again came the rapid
tread of running horses. This time every hair stood up on her head, and
before she could control herself, she called out toward the open door:
"Dearest, are you awake?"

Almost before she had the words out he was standing smiling in the
doorway. It was all right.
"Did you think you heard a carriage come up the driveway?" she asked.
"Why, yes," he replied, "but I didn't."
"Listen! Is there some one coming along the corridor?"
He crossed the room quietly, opened the door, and turned on the light.
"No, dear. There is no one there."
"Hadn't you better ring for your man,