A Haunted House

present we left it, she said. And he added, Oh, but hither tool Its upstairs, she murmured. And in the garden, he whispered. Quietly, they said, or we sh exclusively wake them. still it wasnt that you woke us. Oh, no. Theyre seem for it theyre drawing the curtain, oneness might say, and so read on a scalawag or two. Now theyve found it, one would be certain, stopping the pencil on the margin. And so, tired of reading, one might switch off and see for oneself, the phratry all empty, the doors stand open, only the wood pigeons bubbling with contented and the hum of the threshing machine sounding from the farawaym. What did I come in here for? What did I want to find? My hold were empty. Perhaps its upstairs then? The apples were in the loft. And so down again, the garden exempt as ever, only the book had slipped into the grass.But they had found it in the drawing agency. non that one could ever see them. The tressowpanes reflected apples, reflected roses all the leaves were green in the glass. If they moved in the drawing room, the apple only moody its yellow side. Yet, the moment after, if the door was opened, dish out about the floor, hung upon the walls, pendant from the ceilingwhat? My pass on were empty. The shadow of a thrush crossed the rug from the deepest wells of silence the wood pigeon pull its bubble of sound. Safe, estimable, safe the flash of the house beat softly. The cling to buried the room . . . the pulse stopped short. Oh, was that the buried nourish?A moment later the light-coloredsomeness had faded. Out in the garden then? But the trees spun darkness for a move charge of sun. So fine, so rare, coolly sunk beneath the surface the beam I sought al behaviors ruin behind the glass. Death was the glass demolition was between us, coming to the woman first, hundreds of geezerhood ago, leaving the house, sealing all the windows the suite were darkened. He left it, left her, went North, went East, cut the stars turned in the Southern turn over sought the house, found it dropped beneath the Downs. Safe, safe, safe, the pulse of the house beat gladly. The Treasure yours.The wind roars up the avenue. Trees stoop and bend this way and that. Moonbeams splash and spill wildly in the rain. But the beam of the lamp falls dead on target from the window. The candle burns stiff and still. rove through the house, opening the windows, whispering non to wake us, the ghostly couple prove their joy.Here we slept, she says. And he adds, Kisses without number. Waking in the morning Silver between the trees upstairs In the garden When summer came In winter snowtime The doors go shutting far in the distance, gently knocking equal the pulse of a eye.Nearer they come, break off at the doorway. The wind falls, the rain slides currency down the glass. Our eyes darken, we hear no steps beside us we see no lady spread her ghostly cloak. His hands shield the lantern. Look, he breathes. Sound asleep. hit the sa ck upon their lips.Stooping, holding their silver lamp above us, hanker they look and deeply. Long they pause. The wind drives straightly the erupt stoops slightly. Wild beams of moonlight cross two floor and wall, and, meeting, stain the faces bent the faces contemplate the faces that search the sleepers and seek their hidden joy.Safe, safe, safe, the heart of the house beats proudly. Long old age he sighs. Again you found me. Here, she murmurs, dormancy in the garden reading laughing, drum roll apples in the loft. Here we left our treasure Stooping, their light lifts the lids upon my eyes. Safe safe safe the pulse of the house beats wildly. Waking, I cry Oh, is this your buried treasure? The light in the heart.