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 riding-crop that she observed him. The rain had nearly ceased, and she opened the casement in obedience to his gesture.

'Didn't you see me?' asked D'Urberville.

'I was not attending,' she said. 'I heard you, I believe, though I fancied it was a carriage and horses. I was in a sort of dream.'

'Ah! you heard the D'Urberville Coach, perhaps. You know the legend, I suppose?'

'No. My—somebody was going to tell it me once, but didn't.'

'If you are a genuine D'Urberville I ought not to tell you either, I suppose. As for me, I'm a spurious one, so it doesn't matter. It is rather dismal. It is that this sound of a non-existent coach can only be heard by one of D'Urberville blood, and it is held to be of ill-omen to the one who hears it. It has to do with a murder, committed by one of the family, centuries ago.'

'Now you have begun it, finish it.'

'Very well. One of the family is said to have abducted some beautiful woman, who tried to escape from the coach in which he was carrying her off, and in the struggle he killed her—or she killed him—I forget which. Such is the tale.