There was a soft murmur of wind in the boughs over him , and the faraway moan of the sea on the bar crept in . Roger surrendered himself utterly to the charm of the place . When he entered that grove , he had left behind the realm of daylight and things known and come into the realm of shadow and mystery and enchantment . Anything might happen -- anything might be true . Eighty long years had come and gone , but Isabel Temple , thus cruelly torn from life at the moment when it had promised her most , did not even yet rest calmly in her grave ; such at least was the story , and Roger believed it . It was in his blood to believe it . The Temples were a superstitious family , and there was nothing in Roger 's upbringing to correct the tendency . His was not a sceptical or scientific mind . He was ignorant and poetical and credulous . He had always accepted unquestioningly the tale that Isabel Temple had been seen on earth long after the red clay was heaped over her murdered body . Her bridegroom had seen her , when he went to visit her on the eve of his second and unhappy marriage ; his grandfather had seen her . His grandmother , who had told him Isabel 's story , had told him this too , and believed it . She had added , with a bitterness foreign to his idea of her , that her husband had never been the same to her afterwards ; his uncle had seen her -- and had lived and died a haunted man . It was only to men the lovely , restless ghost appeared , and her appearance boded no good to him who saw . Roger knew this , but he had a curious longing to see her . He had never avoided her grave as others of his tribe did . He loved the spot , and he believed that some time he would see Isabel Temple there . She came , so the story went , to one in each generation of the family . He gazed down at her sunken grave ; a little wind , that came stealing along the floor of the grove , raised and swayed the long , hair-like grass on it , giving the curious suggestion of something prisoned under it trying to draw a long breath and float upward . Then , when he lifted his eyes again , he saw her !
She was standing XXXXX the gravestone , under the cherry tree , whose long white branches touched her head ; standing there , with her head drooping a little , but looking steadily at him .
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