False Evidence by E. Phillips Oppenheim — Read

Early on the following morning I mounted for the last time into the high dog-cart, which had been kept in the coach-house at the "cottage" for my use, and was driven rapidly away with my back to Devereux Court. It was a grey, misty morning, and a watery sun was shining feebly down from a cloud-strewn sky. It had been raining, and innumerable glistening drops of moisture were hanging and falling from the well-nigh leafless trees. A desolate morning; with a slight vapoury mist rising from the ground and chilling the air. But my thoughts were not of the weather, for I was taking my last lingering farewell of Devereux Court. As we turned the corner and lost sight of it for a while, a stronger ray of sunlight than any which had as yet succeeded in piercing the bank of clouds reached its windows, and transformed its whole appearance.

A thousand rays of light seemed to be smiling down at me from the massive stretching front and the frowning towers, all the brighter from the contrast with the black woods above and around. I was young and impressionable to anything in nature, especially with my heart so full as it was then, and, with a sudden start, I rose up and waved my hat in an answering farewell Then I sat down and would not look round again lest the light should have died out from the diamond-framed windows, and the gloom from the threatening clouds reign there instead. I was superstitious, perhaps -- but I wanted to carry away with me in my heart the memory of Devereux Court, as I had seen it a moment ago, with its dark grey front softened and its windows sparkling gaily in that chance flickering ray of sunlight.