And now comes the strange part of my story -- the part which will not , I suppose , be believed . If it were not for one thing I think I should hardly believe it myself . I should feel tempted to think I had dreamed it . But because of that one thing I know it was real . The night was very calm and still . Not a breath of wind stirred . The moonshine was the brightest I had ever seen . In the middle of the garden , where the shadow of the poplars did not fall , it was almost as bright as day . One could have read fine print . There was still a little rose glow in the west , and over the airy boughs of the tall poplars one or two large , bright stars were shining . The air was sweet with a hush of dreams , and the world was so lovely that I held my breath over its beauty . Then , all at once , down at the far end of the garden , I saw a woman walking . I thought at first that it must be Mary Sloane ; but , as she crossed a moonlit path , I saw it was not our old servant 's stout , homely figure . This woman was tall and erect . Although no suspicion of the truth came to me , something about her reminded me of Hester . Even so had Hester liked to wander about the garden in the twilight . I had seen her thus a thousand times . I wondered who the woman could be . Some neighbor , of course . But what a strange way for her to come !
She walked up the garden slowly XXXXX the poplar shade .
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