though how much good he got by going would be a
serious question to discuss.

CHAPTER XXV. THE GATES OF PARADISE.

Robert had his first lesson the next Saturday afternoon. Eager
and undismayed by the presence of Mrs. Forsyth, good-natured and
contemptuous--for had he not a protecting angel by him?--he hearkened
for every word of Miss St. John, combated every fault, and undermined
every awkwardness with earnest patience. Nothing delighted Robert so
much as to give himself up to one greater. His mistress was thoroughly
pleased, and even Mrs. Forsyth gave him two of her soft finger tips to
do something or other with--Robert did not know what, and let them go.

About eight o'clock that same evening, his heart beating like a captured
bird's, he crept from grannie's parlour, past the kitchen, and up the
low stair to the mysterious door. He had been trying for an hour to
summon up courage to rise, feeling as if his grandmother must suspect
where he was going. Arrived at the barrier, twice his courage failed
him; twice he turned and sped back to the parlour. A third time he made
the essay, a third time stood at the wondrous door--so long as blank as
a wall to his careless eyes, now like the door of the magic Sesame that
led to the treasure-cave of Ali Baba. He laid his hand on the knob,
withdrew it, thought he heard some one in the transe, rushed up the
garret stair, and stood listening, hastened down, and with a sudden
influx of determination opened the door, saw that the trap was raised,
closed the door behind him, and standing with his head on the level of
the floor, gazed into the paradise of Miss St. John's room. To have one
peep into such a room was a kind of salvation to the half-starved nature
of the boy. All before him was elegance, richness, mystery. Womanhood
radiated from everything. A fire blazed in the chimney. A rug of long
white wool lay before it. A little way off stood the piano. Ornaments
sparkled and shone upon the dressing-table. The door of a wardrobe had
swung a little open, and discovered the sombre shimmer of a black silk
dress. Something gorgeously red, a China crape shawl, hung glowing
beyond it. He dared not gaze any longer. He had already been guilty of
an immodesty. He hastened to ascend, and seated himself at the piano.

Let my reader aid me for a moment with his imagination--reflecting what
it was to a boy like Robert, and in Robert's misery, to open a door in
his own meagre dwelling and