that has faded during a century or so till the shrill reds of it are become mellowed into hints of pink. Regal chairs, high-backed and deep-seated, covered with the same damask, stood about in the comfortable and informal angles dear to modern eyes. A large table of black oak held bowls of flowers, and a few almost priceless carvings of old ivory,—things that showed vaguely through the gathering dusk, like the pale oval of the girl’s face, and the silver-pale fairness of her hair.
She was sitting close to a faint gleam of firelight, and her eyes were turned toward the window, where trees whose leaves were yellowing in the frosts of early winter showed against the sky. She sat quite motionless, seeming to watch the trees, while in the room dusk grew and grew, shadows gathering thickest in the domed ceiling that hung so far above her, and flowing down till they possessed the chamber utterly, and the little American disappeared in a vast gloom.
A feminine voice, clear, decided, and definitely modern, called suddenly from a distance.
“Anne, where are you?”
“Here,” answered Anne, from the darkness.
“If I could only find a light!” The voice, complaining humorously, was nearer. “The butler has forgotten my orders again, which is not to be won-2
