This chamber had been built out over the library to suit some
fancy, and had been unused for years, except at Christmas times,
when the old house overflowed. It had three windows one to the
east, that overlooked the bay; one to the south, where the
horse-chestnuts waved their green fans; and one to the west,
towards the hill and the evening sky. A ruddy sunset burned there
now, filling the room with an enchanted glow; the soft murmur of
the sea was heard, and a robin chirped "Good-night!" among the
budding trees.

Rose saw and heard these things first, and felt their beauty with a
child's quick instinct; then her eye took in the altered aspect of the
room, once so shrouded, still and solitary, now so full of light and
warmth and simple luxury.

India matting covered the floor, with a gay rug here and there; the
antique andirons shone on the wide hearth, where a cheery blaze
dispelled the dampness of the long-closed room. Bamboo lounges
and chairs stood about, and quaint little tables in cosy corners; one
bearing a pretty basket, one a desk, and on a third lay several
familiar-looking books. In a recess stood a narrow white bed, with
a lovely Madonna hanging over it. The Japanese screen half-folded
back showed a delicate toilet service of blue and white set forth on
a marble slab, and near by was the great bath-pan, with Turkish
towels and a sponge as big as Rose's head.

"Uncle must love cold water like a duck," she thought, with a
shiver.

Then her eye went on to the tall cabinet, where a half-open door