house amusing herself after her own
fashion, and Elizabeth sat in the little morning-room which had become
her favorite apartment of late.

It was a small room in the old part of the house, somewhat sombre in its
character, but on a bright day relieved by a beautiful view of the sea
which was afforded from the French windows, the only modern feature
which Mellen had added to it.

On a dark morning the apartment was gloomy enough; the ceilings were
low, crossed with heavy carved beams that made their want of height
still more apparent; the upper portion of the walls were hung with dark
crimson cloth, met half way down by a wainscoating of unpolished oak,
dark and stained with age.

The furniture had been in the house since the Revolution; the massive
chairs, each one of which was a weight to lift, had been covered with a
fabric to match the hangings. The whole room had a quaint aspect, and
was filled with a store of relics and curiosities which would have
delighted a lover of the antique.

Elsie detested the apartment and never would occupy it, but when alone
Elizabeth sought it from choice; the darker and drearier the day the
more pertinaciously she clung to the old room, where the shadows lay
heavy and grim, and every sound was echoed with preternatural sharpness.

But this day was bright and beautiful as summer itself. The apartment
looked cheerful and picturesque, and Elizabeth made a pretty picture,
seated by one of the open windows, with her light dress forming an
agreeable contrast to the sombre draperies about her.

She had a work-basket on the little spider-legged table by her side and
a mass of embroidery on her lap, but the needle had fallen from her
hold, her hands lay idly upon her knee, and she was looking out over the
bright waters with a dreamy, wistful gaze, which had become habitual
with her whenever the necessity for self-restraint was removed and she
was free to suffer, unobserved.

Tom entered the room in his usual haste, and found her sitting in this
dreamy attitude; she started at the sound of his tread, and with the
caution she was daily acquiring changed her listless position, and threw
the mask of a smile over her face, which it was so dangerous to lift
even for an instant.

"Here I am," cried Tom; "back again, like a bad penny. I hope you are
not beginning to hate the sight of my ugly face."

He rushed towards her, upset the spider-legged table that was always
ready to topple over on