it seems: that is even more than I do
with my tower's) from a tiny chain of gold about his neck, and unlocked
the door connecting this silent room with his own. He went in, leaving
me outside. He lighted a candle and left it burning there. He came, took
my hand, and, with the leading whereby we guide a child, conducted me in
thither. Then he went out and left me standing, bewildered, there.

I had anticipated something wonderful. What was here? It was a silent
room. The carpet had a river-pattern meandering over its dark-blue
ground: it must have been years since a broom went over it. Strange
medley of furniture was here. I looked upon the walls. Pictures that
must have come from another race and generation hung there. There were
many of them. One side of the room held one only. It was a portrait. I
remembered the original in life. "My mother," I exclaimed. In the room's
centre, surrounded by various articles, was the very boat that I knew
Mary Percival had guided out to sea to save Abraham Axtell. Two tiny
oars lay across it. The paint was faded; the seams were open; it would
hold water no longer. A sense of worship filled me. I looked up at the
portrait. My mother smiled: or was it my fancy? Fancy undoubtedly; but
fancies give comfort sometimes. I looked again at the boat. On its
stern, in small, golden letters, was the name, "Blessing of the Bay,"
the very name given to the first boat built after the Mayflower's keel
touched America's shore. "The name was a good omen," I thought. An
armchair stood before the portrait. A shawl was spread over it. I lifted
up the fringe to see what the shawl covered. Papa had come in.

"Don't do that, Anna," he said.

"Is it any harm, papa?"

"Your mother died sitting in that chair; her hands spread the shawl over
it; it was the last work they did, Anna; it has never since been taken
off."

I dropped the fringe; my touch seemed sacrilegious.

Near the chair was a small cabinet; it looked like an altar, or would
have done so, had my father been a devotee to any religion requiring
visible sacrifice. He opened it.

"Come hither, Anna,"--and I went.

Long, luxuriant bands of softly purplish hair lay within, upon the place
of sacrifice.

"Sophie's is like this," I said.

"And Sophie wears one like unto this," said my father; and he took up
a circlet of shining gold that lay among the tresses. "Sophie's
marriage-ring was hallowed unto her. I gave it the morning she went out
fro