nd him.

As he entered the room, the scene of his last night's adventure, his
face beaming with cheerfulness and courage, Adele, who was just then
laying the table, thought his appearance there like another sunrise.

After the morning salutations were over, he looked around the
apartment, observing it, in its daylight aspect, with a somewhat
puzzled air. In some respects, it was entirely unlike what he had
seen before. The broad stone hearth, with its large blazing fire, the
Dutch oven, the air of neatness and thrift, were like those of a New
England kitchen, but here the resemblance ceased.

A paper-hanging, whose originally rich hues had become in a measure
dimmed, covered the walls; and curious old pictures hung around; the
chairs and tables were of heavy dark wood, elaborately and grotesquely
carved, as was also the ebony clock in the corner, whose wonderful
mechanism had so astonished him on the previous evening. A low lounge,
covered with a crimson material, occupied a remote corner of the room,
with a Turkish mat spread on the floor before it. At the head of the
couch was a case, curiously carved, filled with books, and beneath, in
a little niche in the wall, a yellow ivory crucifix.

It did not occur to the good man to make any comparison between this
room with its peculiar adornings, and the Puritan kitchen with its
stiff, stark furniture. One of the latter description was found in his
own home, and the place where his loved ones lived and moved, was to
him invested with a beauty altogether independent of outward form and
show. But, as he looked around with an air of satisfaction, this room
evidently pleased his eye, and he paid an involuntary tribute to its
historic suggestiveness, by falling into a reverie concerning the life
and times of the good Roman Catholic Fenelon, whose memoir and
writings he had read.

Soon Adele called him to the breakfast-table.

Mrs. McNab not having made her appearance, he inquired if any tidings
had been heard from the sick-room. Mrs. Dubois replied, that she had
listened at the door and hearing no sound, concluded Mr. Brown was
quiet under the influence of the sleeping powder, and consequently,
she did not run the risk of disturbing him by going in.

"Should Aunt Patty happen to begin snoring in her chair, as she often
does", said Adele, "Mr. Brown would be obliged to wake up. I defy any
one to sleep when she gets into one of those fits".

"Adele", said her father, whil