covered in with arches and closed with windows against the outer air.
At the farther end three steps descended to a dark door, through the
thickness of a massive wall, showing that at this point Unorna's house
had at some former time been joined with another building beyond, with
which it thus formed one habitation. Unorna paused, holding the key
as though hesitating whether she should put it into the lock. It was
evident that much depended upon her decision, for her face expressed
the anxiety she felt. Once she turned away, as though to abandon her
intention, hesitated, and then, with an impatient frown, opened the
door and went in. She passed through a small, well-lighted vestibule and
entered the room beyond.

The apartment was furnished with luxury, but a stranger would have
received an oddly disquieting impression of the whole at a first glance.
There was everything in the place which is considered necessary for a
bedroom, and everything was perfect of its kind, spotless and dustless,
and carefully arranged in order. But almost everything was of an unusual
and unfamiliar shape, as though designed for some especial reason to
remain in equilibrium in any possible position, and to be moved from
place to place with the smallest imaginable physical effort. The carved
bedstead was fitted with wheels which did not touch the ground, and
levers so placed as to be within the reach of a person lying in it. The
tables were each supported at one end only by one strong column, fixed
to a heavy base set on broad rollers, so that the board could be run
across a bed or a lounge with the greatest ease. There was but one chair
made like ordinary chairs; the rest were so constructed that the least
motion of the occupant must be accompanied by a corresponding change
of position of the back and arms, and some of them bore a curious
resemblance to a surgeon's operating table, having attachments of
silver-plated metal at many points, of which the object was not