whatever position she lay.
Immediately above her hung an extraordinary complication of loose cords,
which ran through ornamental pulleys of the quaintest kind, fixed at
different places in the ceiling, and communicating with the bell, the
door, and a pane of glass in the window which opened easily on hinges.
These were Valentine's own contrivances to enable his wife to summon
attendance, admit visitors, and regulate the temperature of her room at
will, by merely pulling at any one of the loops hanging within reach
of her hand, and neatly labeled with ivory tablets, inscribed "Bell,"
"Door," "Window." The cords comprising this rigging for invalid use were
at least five times more numerous than was necessary for the purpose
they were designed to serve; but Mrs. Blyth would never allow them to be
simplified by dexterous hands. Clumsy as their arrangement might appear
to others, in her eyes it was without a fault: every useless cord was
sacred from the reforming knife, for Valentine's sake.

Imprisoned to one room, as she had now been for years, she had not lost
her natural womanly interest in the little occupations and events of
household life. From the studio to the kitchen, she managed every day,
through channels of communication invented by herself, to find out the
latest domestic news; to be present in spirit at least if not in body,
at family consultations which could not take place in her room; to know
exactly how her husband was getting on downstairs with his pictures;
to rectify in time any omission of which Mr. Blyth or Madonna might
be guilty in making the dinner arrangements, or in sending orders to
tradespeople; to keep the servants attentive to their work, and to
indulge or control them, as the occasion might require. Neither by look
nor manner did she betray any of the sullen listlessness or fretful
impatience sometimes attendant on long, incurable illness. Her voice,
low as its tones were, was always cheerful, and varied musically and
pleasantly with her varying thoughts. On her days of weakness, when she
suffered much under her malady, she was accustomed to be quite still
and quiet, and to keep her room darkened--these being the only signs by
which any increase in her disorder could be detected by those about
her. She never complained when the bad symptoms came on; and never
voluntarily admitted, even on being questioned, that the spine was more
painful to her than usual.

She was dressed very prettily for