on the crest. And thither, presently, Susan led Honora for a view of the
distant western hills silhouetted in black against a flaming western sky,
before escorting her to her room. The vastness of the house, the width of
the staircase, and the size of the second-story hall impressed our
heroine.

"I'll send a maid to you later, dear," Susan said. "If you care to lie
down for half an hour, no one will disturb you. And I hope you will be
comfortable."

Comfortable! When the door had closed, Honora glanced around her and
sighed, "comfort" seemed such a strangely inadequate word. She was
reminded of the illustrations she had seen of English country houses. The
bed alone would almost have filled her little room at home. On the
farther side, in an alcove, was a huge dressing-table; a fire was laid in
the grate of the marble mantel, the curtains in the bay window were
tightly drawn, and near by was a lounge with a reading-light. A huge
mahogany wardrobe occupied one corner; in another stood a pier glass, and
in another, near the lounge, was a small bookcase filled with books.
Honora looked over them curiously. "Robert Elsmere" and a life of Christ,
"Mr. Isaacs," a book of sermons by an eminent clergyman, "Innocents
Abroad," Hare's "Walks in Rome," "When a Man's Single," by Barrie, a book
of meditations, and "Organized Charities for Women."

Adjoining the bedroom was a bathroom in proportion, evidently all her
own,--with a huge porcelain tub and a table set with toilet bottles
containing liquids of various colours.

Dreamily, Honora slipped on the new dressing-gown Aunt Mary had made for
her, and took a book out of the bookcase. It was the volume of sermons.