The Red House had no flowering parterres anywhere, no terraces, no charming idyllic toys of any sort, no gracing gardens full of lovely sweets, wherewith to charm the eye. Nothing, save one huge elm upon the barren lawn, and the dark, gloomy row of cypresses those gloomiest of all dear Nature's gifts, standing in funeral procession before the hall door. They had been there when Dr. Darkham took the place ten years ago. He had thought of removing them, but on second thoughts had let them alone. Somehow, he told himself, they suited his ménage.
Indoors, the day was, if possible, more depressing than outside. May should be a lovely month, but months do not always fulfil their obligations. This May day, as I have said, was full of grief. Rain in the morning, rain in the afternoon, and rain now and again,when the evening is descending.