E-text prepared by Jeff Kaylin and Andrew Sly
New York and London
Harper & Brothers
MDCCCXCIX
On the south a high arbor-vitæ hedge separated Evelina'sgarden from the road. The hedge was so high that when theschool-children lagged by, and the secrets behind it fired them withmore curiosity than those between their battered book covers, thetallest of them by stretching up on tiptoe could not peer over. Andso they were driven to childish engineering feats, and would set towork and pick away sprigs of the arbor-vitæ with their littlefingers, and make peep-holes—but small ones, that Evelina mightnot discern them. Then they would thrust their pink faces into thehedge, and the enduring fragrance of it would come to their nostrilslike a gust of aromatic breath from the mouth of the northern woods,and peer into Evelina's garden as through the green tubes of vernaltelescopes.
Then suddenly hollyhocks, blooming in rank and file, seemed to bemarching upon them like platoons of soldiers, with detonations ofcolor that dazzled their peeping eyes; and, indeed, the whole gardenseemed charging with its mass of riotous bloom upon the hedge. Theycould scarcely take in details of marigold and phlox and pinks andLondon-pride and cock's-combs, and prince's-feather's waving overheadlike standards.
Sometimes also there was the purple flutter of Evelina's gown; andEvelina's face, delicately faded, hung about with softly droopinggray curls, appeared suddenly among the flowers, like another floweruncannily instinct with nervous melancholy.
Then the children would fall back from their peep-holes, andhuddle off together with scared giggles. They were afraid of Evelina.There was a shade of mystery about her which stimulated theirchildish fancies when they heard her discussed by their elders. Theymight easily have conceived her to be some baleful fairy intrenchedin her green stronghold, withheld from leaving it by the fear of somedire penalty for magical sins. Summer and winter, spring and fall,Evelina Adams never was seen outside her own domain of oldmansion-house and garden, and she had not set her slim lady feet inthe public highway for nearly forty years, if the stories weretrue.
People differed as to the reason why. Some said she had had anunfortunate love affair, that her heart had been broken, and she hadtaken upon herself a vow of seclusion from the world, but nobodycould point to the unworthy lover who had done her this harm. WhenEvelina was a girl, not one of the young men of the village had daredaddress her. She had been set apart by birth and training, and alsoby a certain exclusiveness of manner, if not of nature. Her father,old Squire Adams, had been the one man of wealth and college learningin the village. He had owned the one fine old mansion-house, with itswhite front propped on great Corinthian pillars, overlooking thevillage like a broad brow of superiority.
He had owned the only coach and four. His wife during her shortlife had gone dressed in rich brocades and satins that rustled loudin the ears of the village women, and her nodding plumes had dazzledthe eyes under their modest hoods. Hardly a woman in the village butcould tell—for it had been handed down like a folk-lore songfrom mother to daughter—just what Squire Adams's wife wore whenshe walked out first as bride to meeting. She had been clad all inblue.
“Squire