scarcity both of books and book-cases; none were to be seen except
that, in a chiffoniere in the drawing-room, there was a row in gilded
bindings, chiefly Pope, Gray, and the like; and one which Albinia
took out had pages which stuck together, a little pale blue string,
faded at the end, and in the garlanded fly-leaf the inscription, 'To
Miss Lucy Meadows, the reward of good conduct, December 20th, 1822.'
The book seemed rather surprised at being opened, and Albinia let it
close itself as Lucy said, 'Those are poor mamma's books, all the
others are in the study. Come in, and I'll show you.'

She threw open the door, and Albinia entered. The study was shaded
with a mass of laurels that kept out the sun, and made it look chill
and sad, and the air in it was close. The round library-table was
loaded with desks, pocket-books, and papers, the mantelpiece was
covered with letters, and book-shelves mounted to the ceiling, filled
with the learned and the poetical of new and old times.

Over the fireplace hung what it needed not Lucy's whisper to point
out, as 'Poor mamma's picture.' It represented a very pretty girl,
with dark eyes, brilliant colour, and small cherry mouth, painted in
the exaggerated style usually called 'ridiculously like.'

Albinia's first feeling was that there was nothing in herself that
could atone for the loss of so fair a creature, and the thought
became more oppressive as she looked at a niche in the wall, holding
a carved sandal-wood work-box, with a silver watch lying on it.

'Poor Edmund's watch,' said Lucy. 'It was given to him for a reward
just before he was ill.'