ought rosewood, bare of draperies, as became the season,
save at the head-board, behind which a heavy curtain was dropped of
rose-colored damask satin.

Of the same rich material were composed the tester and the
lightly-quilted coverlet, thrown across the foot of the bed, over a fine
white Marseilles counterpane.

The chimney immediately opposite to me, as I lay, was of black marble,
and, instead of graceful Greek _caryatides_, bandaged mummies, or
Egyptian figures, supported the heavy shelf that surmounted the polished
grate. In the centre of this massive mantel-slab was placed a huge
bronze clock, and candelabra of the same material graced its corners.

In either recess of this chimney rosewood doors were situated, one of
which stood invitingly ajar, disclosing the bath-room, into which it
opened, with its accessories of white marble.

The other, firmly closed, seemed to be the outlet of the chamber--its
only one--with the exception of the four large Venetian windows, two on
either side of me as I lay, the sashes of which, warm as the season was,
were drawn closely down.

The furniture of this spacious chamber to which, as if by the touch of a
magician's wand, I found myself transported, was throughout solid and of
elegant forms, consisting as it did of _armoire_, toilet-table,
bookcase, _etagere_, writing and flower stands, tables and chairs, of
the richest rosewood.

At the foot of my bed was placed a console, supporting a huge Bible and
Prayer-book, bound alike in purple velvet, emblazoned with central suns
of gold--an arch-hypocrisy that was not lost on its object.
Freshly-gathered flowers were heaped in the vases of the floral stands,
filling the close, cool room with an overpowering fragrance. The carpet
of crimson and white seemed to the eye what it afterward proved to the
foot--thick, soft, and elastic; and harmonized well with the rich,
antique, and consistent furniture.

The sort of microscopic scrutiny that children manifest seemed mine--in
my unreasoning, half-convalescent state; and for a time I observed all
that I have described with a listless pleasure, difficult to analyze, a
sort of dreamy acceptance of my condition, the very memory of which
exasperated me, later, almost to self-contempt.

A crimson cord hung at one side of my bed, continued from a bell-wire at
some distance, the tassel of which I touched lightly, and, at the very
first signal, Mrs. Clayton appeared through the hitherto only