imagined that Miss Sally's correspondence with Jeffcourt's murderer had
afforded her a mixed satisfaction; it was at first asserted that Miss
Sally's forgiveness was really prompted by "Miss Mirandy," as a subtle
sarcasm upon the family. When, however, that forgiveness seemed to
become a source of revenue to the impoverished Jeffcourts, her Christian
interference had declined.

For this reason, possibly, the young girl did not seek her aunt in
the bedroom, the dining-room, or the business-room, where Miss
Miranda frequently assisted Captain Dows in the fatuous and prejudiced
mismanagement of the house and property, nor in any of the vacant
guest-rooms, which, in their early wreck of latter-day mahogany and
rosewood, seemed to have been unoccupied for ages, but went directly to
her own room. This was in the "L," a lately added wing that had escaped
the gloomy architectural tyranny of the main building, and gave Miss
Sally light, ventilation, the freshness and spice of new pine boards and
clean paper, and a separate entrance and windows on a cool veranda all
to herself. Intended as a concession to the young lady's traveled taste,
it was really a reversion to the finer simplicity of the pioneer.

New as the apartment appeared to be, it was old enough to contain
the brief little records of her maidenhood: the childish samplers and
pictures; the sporting epoch with its fox-heads, opossum and wild-cat
skins, riding-whip, and the goshawk in a cage, which Miss Sally believed
could be trained as a falcon; the religious interval of illustrated
texts, "Rock of Ages," cardboard crosses, and the certificate of her
membership with "The Daughters of Sion" at the head of her little bed,
down to the last decadence of frivolity shown in the be-ribboned guitar
in the corner, and the dance cards, favors, and rosettes, military
buttons, dried bouquets, and other love gages on the mantelpiece.