een left half-finished, and were partly falling into ruin. A row of
bare, empty window-frames faced me whenever I turned my wearied eyes to
the scene without. Not a sound or sign of life was there about them.
Within, my room was; small and scantily furnished, yet there was
scarcely space enough for me to move about it. There was no table for me
to take my meals at, except the top of the crazy chest of drawers, which
served as my dressing-table. One chair, broken in the back, and tied
together with a faded ribbon, was the only seat, except my box, which,
set in a corner where I could lean against the wall, made me the most
comfortable place for resting. There was a little rusty grate, but it
was still summer-time, and there was no need of a fire. A fire indeed
would have been insupportable, for the sultry, breathless atmosphere of
August, with the fever-heat of its sun burning in the narrow streets and
close yards, made the temperature as parching as an oven. I panted for
the cool cliffs and sweet fresh air of Sark.

In this feverish solitude one day dragged itself after another with
awful monotony. As they passed by, the only change they brought was that
the sultry heat grew ever cooler, and the long days shorter. The winter
seemed inclined to set in early, and with unusual rigor, for a month
before the usual time fires became necessary. I put off lighting mine,
for fear of the cost, until my sunless little room under the roof was
almost like an ice-house. A severe cold, which made me afraid of having
to call in a doctor, compelled me to have a fire; and the burning of it,
and the necessity of tending it, made it like a second person and
companion in the lonely place. Hour after hour I sat in front of it on
my box, with my elbows on my knees and my chin in my hands, watching the
changeful scenery of its embers, and the exquisite motion of the flames,
and the upward rolling of the tiny columns of smoke, and the fiery,
gorgeous colors that came and went with a breath. To see the tongues of
fire lap round the dull, black coal, and run about it, and feel it, and
kindle it with burning touches, and never quit it till it was glowing
and fervid, and aflame like themselves--that was my sole occupation for
hours together.

Think what a dreary life for a young girl! I was as fond of
companionship, and needed love, as much as any girl. Was it strange that
my thoughts dwelt somewhat dangerously upon the pleasant, peaceful days
in