he furnaces of Cauldon Bar Ironworks lit the valley for us, and
we were reminded that our refined and inviolate calm was hemmed in by
rude activities. On the east border of the garden was a row of poplars,
and from the window I could see the naked branches of the endmost. A
gas-lamp suddenly blazed behind it in Acre Lane, and I descried a bird in
the tree. And as the tree waved its plume in the night-wind, and the bird
swayed on the moving twig, and the gas-lamp burned meekly and patiently
beyond, I seemed to catch in these simple things a glimpse of the secret
meaning of human existence, such as one gets sometimes, startlingly, in a
mood of idle receptiveness. And it was so sad and so beautiful, so full
of an ecstatic melancholy, that I dropped the curtain. And my thought
ranged lovingly over our household--prim, regular, and perfect: my old
aunt embroidering in the breakfast-room, and Rebecca and Lucy ironing in
the impeachable kitchen, and not one of them with the least suspicion
that Adam had not really waked up one morning minus a rib. I wandered in
fancy all over the house--the attics, my aunt's bedroom so miraculously
neat, and mine so unkempt, and the dark places in the corridors where
clocks ticked.

I had the sense of the curious compact organism of which my aunt was the
head, and into which my soul had strayed by some caprice of fate. What I
felt was that the organism was suspended in a sort of enchantment,
lifelessly alive, unconsciously expectant of the magic touch which would
break the spell, and I wondered how long I must wait before I began to
live. I know now that I was happy in those serene preliminary years, but
nevertheless I had the illusion of spiritual woe. I sighed grievously as
I went back to the piano, and opened the volume of Mikuli's Chopin.

Just as I was beginning to play, Rebecca came into the room. She was a
maid of forty years, and stout; absolutely certain of a few things, and
quite satisfied in her ignorance of all else; an important person in our
house, and therefore an important person in the created universe, of
which our house was for her the centre. She wore the white cap with
distinction, and when an apron was suspended round her immense waist it
ceased to be an apron, and became a symbol, like the apron of a
Freemason.

'Well, Rebecca?' I said, without turning my head.

I guessed urgency, otherwise Rebecca would have delegated Lucy.

'If you please, Miss Carlotta, your aunt