of books were in the wall on both sides of the mantel; upon the mantelshelf were antiques,—bowls and vases; and above were old rapiers and a steel gauntlet from some ancient suit of mail.
Ethel had made sure now that no one was in the room; and it showed no sign of disorder or of violence done there; yet sight of the room itself amazingly disturbed her. She did not know why, at first; she merely felt frightened as by something uncanny. Asa noticed her excitement and looked inquiringly about the room again before he asked in a whisper:
"Something here you see?"
"No," she said. "It's—Asa, I've been in this room. I've never been in this house before; but I've been in this room!"
"Yes?" Asa inquired, unable to comprehend her.
She walked about the room, and the feeling grew stronger. The wood paneling of the walls between the windows, the window casings and the mantel were all old, she saw,—much older than the house itself. Most of the furniture was old,—the tables, chairs and footrests. These and the bronzes and the marble were not mere copies, in wood and metal and stone, of work of some past period; the materials themselves were old; the handiwork was old.
Ethel was familiar with the American liking for buying "an interior" abroad and transporting and installing it in toto within new walls; and it was plain to her that this room once had been part of a French building. French of the sixteenth or the seventeenth century, French of the periods which one associated with Louis XIV and Henry of Navarre. Ethel's recognition of this partly explained her impression of familiarity here; when she was a child at her aunt's
