Par.
Paragraph 1It is very seldom that mere ordinary people like John and myself secure ancestral halls for the summer.
Paragraph 2A colonial mansion, a hereditary estate, I would say a haunted house, and reach the height of romantic felicity—but that would be asking too much of fate!
Paragraph 3Still I will proudly declare that there is something queer about it.
Paragraph 4Else, why should it be let so cheaply? And why have stood so long untenanted?
Paragraph 5John laughs at me, of course, but one expects that in marriage.
Paragraph 6John is practical in the extreme. He has no patience with faith, an intense horror of superstition, and he scoffs openly at any talk of things not to be felt and seen and put down in figures.
Paragraph 7John is a physician, and perhaps—(I would not say it to a living soul, of course, but this is dead paper and a great relief to my mind)—perhaps that is one reason I do not get well faster.
Paragraph 8You see, he does not believe I am sick!
Paragraph 9And what can one do?
Paragraph 10If a physician of high standing, and one’s own husband, assures friends and relatives that there is really nothing the matter with one but temporary nervous depression—a slight hysterical tendency—what is one to do?
Paragraph 11My brother is also a physician, and also of high standing, and he says the same thing.
Paragraph 12So I take phosphates or phosphites—whichever it is, and tonics, and journeys, and air, and exercise, and am absolutely forbidden to “work” until I am well again.
Paragraph 13Personally, I disagree with their ideas.
Paragraph 14Personally, I believe that congenial work, with excitement and change, would do me good.
Paragraph 15But what is one to do?
Paragraph 16I did write for a while in spite of them; but it does exhaust me a good deal—having to be so sly about it, or else meet with heavy opposition.
Paragraph 17I sometimes fancy that in my condition if I had less opposition and more society and stimulus—but John says the very worst thing I can do is to think about my condition, and I confess it always makes me feel bad.
Paragraph 18So I will let it alone and talk about the house.
Paragraph 19The most beautiful place! It is quite alone, standing well back from the road, quite three miles from the village. It makes me think of English places that you read about, for there are hedges and walls and gates that lock, and lots of separate little houses for the gardeners and people.
Paragraph 20There is a delicious garden! I never saw such a garden—large and shady, full of box-bordered paths, and lined with long grape-covered arbors with seats under them.
Paragraph 21There were greenhouses, too, but they are all broken now.
Paragraph 22There was some legal trouble, I believe, something about the heirs and co-heirs; anyhow, the place has been empty for years.
Paragraph 23That spoils my ghostliness, I am afraid; but I don’t care—there is something strange about the house—I can feel it.
Paragraph 24I even said so to John one moonlight evening, but he said what I felt was a draught, and shut the window.
Paragraph 25I get unreasonably angry with John sometimes. I’m sure I never used to be so sensitive. I think it is due to this nervous condition.
Paragraph 26But John says if I feel so I shall neglect proper self-control; so I take pains to control myself,—before him, at least,—and that makes me very tired.
Paragraph 27I don’t like our room a bit. I wanted one downstairs that opened on the piazza and had roses all over the window, and such pretty old-fashioned chintz hangings! but John would not hear of it.
Paragraph 28He said there was only one window and not room for two beds, and no near room for him if he took another.
Paragraph 29He is very careful and loving, and hardly lets me stir without special direction.
Paragraph 30I have a schedule prescription for each hour in the day; he takes all care from me, and so I feel basely ungrateful not to value it more.
Paragraph 31He said we came here solely on my account, that I was to have perfect rest and all the air I could get. “Your exercise depends on your strength, my dear,” said he, “and your food somewhat on your appetite; but air you can absorb all the time.” So we took the nursery, at the top of the house.
Paragraph 32It is a big, airy room, the whole floor nearly, with windows that look all ways, and air and sunshine galore. It was nursery first and then playground and gymnasium, I should judge; for the windows are barred for little children, and there are rings and things in the walls.