"Yes; have you never seen it before?" he answered, in some surprise.
"Never. I have not lived in Meadowshire long, you know, and the Millers were moving into the house and furnishing it all last summer. I have never been in the gardens till to-day. How strangely sad the place looks! Let us walk round it."
They went round to the further side.
The pool of water lay dark and silent within its stone steps; not a ripple disturbed its surface; not a dead leaf rested on its bosom. Only the motionless water looked up everlastingly at the gray winter skies above, and reflected them back blackly and gloomily upon its solemn face.
Vera stood still and looked at it. Something in its aspect—she could not have told what—affected her powerfully. She went down two or three steps towards the water, and stooped over it intently.
Maurice, watching her curiously, saw, to his surprise, that she trembled. She turned round to him.
"Does it not look dark and deep? Is it very deep?"
"I believe it is. There are all sorts of stories about it. Come up, Vera; why do you tremble so?"
"How dreadful to be drowned here!" she said, below her breath, and she shuddered.
He stretched out his hand to her.