ns can. Though a perfect fairy palace within, our stronghold is
guarded by no giant, griffin, dragon, or dwarf; nothing more frightful
than a policeman, whose measured tread may be heard at the midnight
hour pacing up and down beneath our windows. "It's a great comfort,"
says Aunt Deborah, "to know that assistance is close at hand. I am a
lone woman, Kate, and I confess to feeling nervous when I lie awake."
I quite agree with my aunt, though I'm not nervous, but I must say I
like the idea of being watched over during the hours of sleep; and
there is something romantic in hearing the regular tramp of the
sentinel whilst one is curled up snug in bed. I don't much think it
always is the policeman--at least I know that one night when I got up
to peep if it was a constable, he was wrapped in a very loose cloak,
such as is by no means the uniform of the force, and was besides,
unquestionably, smoking a cigar, which I am given to understand is not
permitted by the regulations when on duty. I watched the glowing light
for at least ten minutes, and when I went to bed again, I could not
get to sleep for wondering who the amateur policeman could be.

But the house is a perfect jewel of its kind. _Such_ a pretty
dining-room, _such_ a lovely drawing-room, opening into a
conservatory, with a fountain and gold-fish, to say nothing of flowers
(I am passionately fond of flowers), and _such_ a boudoir of my own,
where nobody ever intrudes except my special favourites--Cousin John,
for instance, when he is not in disgrace--and which I have fitted up
and furnished quite to my own taste. There's the "Amazon" in gilt
bronze, and a bas-relief from the Elgin marbles--not coloured like
those flaxen-haired abominations at Sydenham, but pure and simple as
the taste that created it; and an etching Landseer did for me himself
of my little Scotch terrier growling; and a veritable original sketch
of Horace Vernet--in which nothing is distinguishable save a phantom
charger rearing straight up amongst clouds of smoke. Then I've put up
a stand for my riding-whips, and a picture of my own thoroughbred
favourite horse over the chimney-piece; altogether, Aunt Deborah
describes the apartment exactly when she says to me, as she does about
once a week, "My dear, if you were a _man_, I should say your room was
fitted up in the most perfect taste; but as you happen to be a young
lady, I won't say what I think, because I know you won't agree with
me;" and I cert