floor; the furniture was luxurious though not showy, and there
was plenty of it. So there was a plenty of works of art, in
home and foreign manufacture. Comfort, elegance, prettiness,
all around; and through the clear, glass of the long windows
the evergreen oaks on the lawn showed like guardians of the
place. I stood at one of them, with the pressure of that joy
and sorrow filling my childish heart.

My aunt presently called me from the window, and bade me let
Margaret take off my things. I got leave to go up stairs with
Margaret and take them off there. So I ran up the low easy
flight of stairs — they were wooden and uncarpeted — to a
matted gallery lit from the roof, with here and there a window
in a recess looking upon the lawn. Many rooms opened into this
gallery. I went from one to another. Here were great wood
fires burning too; here were snowy white beds, with light
muslin hangings; and dark cabinets and wardrobes; and mats on
the floors, with thick carpets and rugs laid down here and
there. And on one side and on the other side the windows
looked out upon the wide lawn, with its giant oaks hung with
grey wreaths of moss. My heart grew sore straitened. It was a
hard evening, that first evening at Magnolia; with the
loveliness and the brightness, the warm attraction, and the
bitter cold sense of loneliness. I longed to throw myself down
and cry. What I did, was to stand by one of the windows and
fight myself not to let the tears come. If _they_ were here, it
would be so happy! If they were here — oh, if they were here!

I believe the girl spoke to me without my hearing her. But
then came somebody whom I was obliged to hear, shouting