I will tell you.

This fence is no ordinary fence, and this gate no ordinary gate;
nor is the fact of the latter standing a trifle open, one to be
lightly regarded or taken an inconsiderate advantage of. For this
is Judge Ostrander's place, and any one who knows Shelby or the
gossip of its suburbs, knows that this house of his has not opened
its doors to any outsider, man or woman, for over a dozen years;
nor have his gates--in saying which, I include the great one in
front--been seen in all that time to gape at any one's instance or
to stand unclosed to public intrusion, no, not for a moment. The
seclusion sought was absolute. The men and women who passed and
repassed this corner many times a day were as ignorant as the
townspeople in general of what lay behind the grey, monotonous
exterior of the weather-beaten boards they so frequently brushed
against. The house was there, of course,--they all knew the house,
or did once--but there were rumours (no one ever knew how they
originated) of another fence, a second barrier, standing a few
feet inside the first and similar to it in all respects, even to
the gates which corresponded exactly with these outer and visible
ones and probably were just as fully provided with bolts and bars.

To be sure, these were reports rather than acknowledged facts, but
the possibility of their truth roused endless wonder and gave to
the eccentricities of this well-known man a mysterious
significance which lost little or nothing in the slow passage of
years.

And now! in the freshness of this summer morning, without warning
or any seeming reason for the change, the strict habit of years