But because of that one thing I know
it was real. The night was very calm and still. Not a breath of
wind stirred. The moonshine was the brightest I had ever seen.
In the middle of the garden, where the shadow of the poplars did
not fall, it was almost as bright as day. One could have read
fine print. There was still a little rose glow in the west, and
over the airy boughs of the tall poplars one or two large, bright
stars were shining. The air was sweet with a hush of dreams, and
the world was so lovely that I held my breath over its beauty.
Then, all at once, down at the far end of the garden, I saw a
woman walking. I thought at first that it must be Mary Sloane;
but, as she crossed a moonlit path, I saw it was not our old
servant's stout, homely figure. This woman was tall and erect.
Although no suspicion of the truth came to me, something about
her reminded me of Hester. Even so had Hester liked to wander
about the garden in the twilight. I had seen her thus a thousand
times.
I wondered who the woman could be. Some neighbor, of course.
But what a strange way for her to come! She walked up the garden
slowly in the poplar shade. Now and then she stooped, as if to
caress a flower, but she plucked none. Half way up she out in to
the moonlight and walked across the plot of grass in the center
of the garden. My heart gave a great throb and I stood up. She
was quite near to me now--and I saw that it was Hester.
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