The Argosy — page 219: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

202 The Tenant of The Cedars. II. A WEEK later I found myself once more entering the gates of Ran- stone Park, having left my ‘‘traps” to be sent after me from Reading. The evening was grey, moist, and cool. Rain had fallen in the morning, and the air was still charged with the sweet pastoral scent of wet earth and grass. ‘‘ Autumn’s fiery finger” had not yet touched the leaves, and the woods wore a green as fresh and rich as if the month had been June instead of August. To come straight from the dust and turmoil of town to these sylvan solitudes was almost like being transported to another planet. The walk was so pleasant that I was half sorry when it was over, and I saw before me the solitary pavilion, with the woods behind it and the stream at its feet. I was received at the door by Mrs. Foster and a pleasant, fresh-faced young woman, whom she introduced as her niece. ‘‘ Martha can’t be spared from home altogether, sir,” she explained, ‘but she’ll be here early every morning, and I think you'll find her a good cook. She’s given the house a thorough cleaning, all but the drawing-room. Underwood has fastened the window and locked the door, and won’t let herset foot in it. I really think the man is soing out of his mind,” she continued, following me into the study, where the cloth was laid for my solitary dinner. ‘‘ Just look at him now, sir.” She pointed through the window to where the gardener was stand- ing in the side-walk. He had paused in the act of pruning a rose- bush, and seemed to be listening intently to some sound proceeding from the lower end of the walk. ‘‘ He'll stand in that way for ten minutes together, listening to nothing,” she whispered. ‘‘ It gives me a creepy feeling to look at him. People do say that the cottage is haunted, and that he ——” ‘‘ Nonsense!” I interrupted; “he is evidently subject to some delusion. Have you any idea what it is?” She shook her head, and was silent a2 moment, thoughtfully watching him. ‘He has never been the same man since that dreadful affair three years ago,” she resumed, at length. ‘What are you speaking of?” She coloured and bit her lips. ‘I ought not to have mentioned it, as it may set you against the house—however, I dare say you would have heard of it from someone else. I mean the murder of Mademoiselle Lestelle.” ‘What !” I exclaimed, in horror. ‘‘ Do you mean to say that she was murdered ?” ‘In this very house, on the night of the first of September, three years ago.” EGomichbookssco m