first Mark Ingram built his house here above the wharves where his ships lay. No, the little woven rugs are very threadbare; there are gaps in the rows of china within the shell cabinet, hinting at the reluctant sale of least treasured pieces; Miss Ellen's mouse-gray dress, if we only knew it, has been turned; and, for that matter, Jane's reefer once belonged to Alan and has been for several years in the cedar chest, waiting until her shoulders should be broad enough to wear it.
But lessened fortunes cannot diminish the beauty of fine architecture. There is no more lovely stairway in Resthaven than that of the Ingram mansion, sweeping up its gracious flights with perfect curve of smooth mahogany rail and delicate banisters. And the doorways are fashioned broad and high; in the down-stairs rooms they are arched, and fluted pilasters support their curved white lintels. The long windows are set with that exquisite proportion which no modern architect finds easy to copy, and wooden inside shutters with smoked-glass knobs fold back against the paneled walls. To-night Miss Ellen rose to shut those which closed the east-
