Retiring noiselessly, she sought her own chamber, where a taper was dimly burning before a mirror. By that faint light you might trace the luxurious appointment of the place,—a white bed, half shadowed in an alcove—a vase of alabaster filled with fragrant flowers—and curtains falling like snow-flakes along the lofty windows. The idea of wifely purity was associated with every object in that chamber.
"I shall not want you to-night, Eliza; I will undress myself," exclaimed Joanna to a female servant, who stood waiting near the mirror. "You may retire."
The servant retired, and the young wife was alone. She extinguished the taper, and all was still throughout the mansion. But she did not retire to her bed. Advancing in the darkness, she opened a door behind the bed, and entered the bath-room, where she lighted a lamp by the aid of a perfumed match which she found, despite the gloom. The bath-room was oval in shape, with an arched ceiling. The walls, the ceiling and the floor were of white marble. In the center was the bath, resembling an immense shell, sunk into the marble floor. This place, without ornament or decoration of any kind, save the pure white of the walls and floor, was pervaded by luxurious warmth. The water which filled the shell or hollow in the center of the floor, emitted a faint but pungent perfume.
She disrobed herself and descended into the bath, suffering her golden hair to float freely about her shoulders.
After the lapse of a quarter of an hour, this beautiful woman took the light and passed into the bed chamber. She cast a glance toward her bed, which had been consecrated by her marriage, and by the birth of her first and only child. Then advancing toward a wardrobe of rosewood, which stood in a recess opposite the bed, she took from thence a dress, with which she proceeded to encase her form. A white robe, loose and flowing, with a hood resembling the cowl of a nun. This robe was of the softest satin. She enveloped her form in its folds, threw the hood over her head, and looking in the mirror, surveyed her beautiful face, which, glowing with warmth, was framed in her golden hair, and in the folds of the satin cowl.
She drew slippers of delicate satin, white as her robe, upon her naked feet.
Then, taking from the wardrobe a heavy cloak, lined throughout with fur, as soft as the satin which clad her shape, she wound it about her from head to foot, and stood completely buried in its voluminous folds.
Once more she listened: all was still throughout that mansion, the home of aristocratic wealth. Thus clad in the silken robe and cowl, covered in its turn by the shapeless black cloak, this young wife, whose limbs were glowing with the warmth of the bath, whose person was invested with a delicate perfume, turned once more and gazed upon her marriage bed, and a deep sigh swelled her bosom. She next extinguished the light, and passing from the chamber, descended the marble staircase. All was dark. She entered the suite of apartments on the first floor, which, adorned with pillars, communicated with each other by folding-doors. The chandelier had been extinguished, and the scene was wrapt in impenetrable darkness.
Standing in the darkness,—her only apparel the silken robe, and the thick, warm cloak which covered it,—the young wife trembled like a leaf.
She attempted to utter a word, but her voice failed her.