thickly hung with photographs, watercolors,
charcoal sketches, miniatures, bits of faience, lacquered trays and
discs, and great shining circles of Syrian and Benares metalwork. There
were many pieces of pottery of various sorts, set here and there, on the
chimney-piece, on book-shelves, on the top of a strangely carved black
cabinet, with hinges and handles of wrought iron. In one corner stood
an Italian spinning-wheel of ebony and silver; in another an odd
instrument, whose use Candace could not guess, but which was in reality
a Tyrolean zither. An escritoire, drawn near a window, was heaped with
papers and with writing appliances of all sorts, and all elegant. There
were many little tables covered with books and baskets of crewels and
silks, and easy-chairs of every description. Every chair-back and little
stand had some quaint piece of lace-work or linen-work thrown over it.
It was, in fact, one of those rooms belonging distinctly to our modern
life, for the adornment of which every part of the world is ransacked,
and their products set forth in queer juxtapositions, to satisfy or to
exhibit the varied tastes and pursuits of its occupants. To Candace it
was as wonderful as any museum; and while her eyes slowly travelled from
one object to another, she forgot her strangeness and was happy.

Tick, tick, tick, tick, went the little French clock on the mantelpiece.
Suddenly it struck her that it was a long while that she had been left
alone in this room. She glanced at the clock; it really was almost an
hour. All her latent homesickness returned with fresh force. Her eyes
filled with sudden tears; in another moment she would have been actually
crying, but just then came a quick step, a little rustle, and she had
just time to wipe away the drops when the door opened, and Mrs. Gray
hurried into the room.

"My poor child," she exclaimed, "have you been alone all this time? It
is quite too bad! I made sure that I should hear the carriage drive up,
and at least run out and give you a welcome, but somehow I didn't; and
people came so fast and thick that I couldn't get a chance to glance at
the clock." She kissed Candace, and looked at her with a sort of soft
scrutiny. It was to the full as penetrating as that of the strange girls
on the steamer had been; but it did not hurt like theirs. Mrs. Gray had
beautiful, big, short-sighted blue eyes with black lashes; when she
smiled they seemed to brim with a sudden fascinating radian