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.