at Moodie’s door. “Come in!” said he.

And Zenobia entered. The details of the interview that followed being unknown to me, — while, notwithstanding, it would be a pity quite to lose the picturesqueness of the situation, — I shall attempt to sketch it, mainly from fancy, although with some general grounds of surmise in regard to the old man’s feelings.

She gazed wonderingly at the dismal chamber. Dismal to her, who beheld it only for an instant; and how much more so to him, into whose brain each bare spot on the ceiling, every tatter of the paper-hangings, and all the splintered carvings of the mantelpiece, seen wearily through long years, had worn their several prints! Inexpressibly miserable is this familiarity with objects that have been from the first disgustful.