But Madam Mason's feet never climbed these steep ladder-like stairs
up to this eyrie, which all her life had been dear to Gertrude. In
her childhood it had been her playroom. As she grew older, she had
gradually gathered about her in this place numbers of childish and
girlish treasures. Her father bestowed gifts upon her at various
times. She had clever fingers of her own, and specimens of her
needlework and her painting adorned the walls. At such times as the
fastidious mistress of the house condemned various articles of
furniture as too antiquated for her taste, Gertrude would get them
secretly conveyed up here; so that her lofty bower was neither bare
nor cheerless, but, on the contrary, rather crowded with furniture
and knick-knacks of all sorts. She kept her possessions
scrupulously clean, lavishing upon them much tender care, and much
of that active service in manual labour which she found no scope
for elsewhere. Her happiest hours were spent up in this lonely
attic, far removed from the sound of her mother's plaints or her
brother's ribald and too often profane jesting. Here she kept her
books, her lute, and her songbirds; and the key of her retreat hung
always at her girdle, and was placed at night beneath her pillow.

This evening she had been hastily dismissed from her father's
presence, he having come in with agitated face, and bidden her
instantly take herself away whilst he spoke with her mother. She
had obeyed at once, without pausing to ask the questions which
trembled on her lips. That something of ill had befallen she could
not doubt; but at least her father was safe, and she must wait with
what patience she could for the explanation of her sudden
dismissal.