The room was small, very little larger than the one I had inhabited—oh, how long ago—but it was very different. The window was not a mere slit almost lost in the thickness of the wall, but a peaceful lattice, broad and low, into which, late as it was, looked a cluster of noisette roses. The floor was of boards instead of tiles, and covered here and there with rugs, evidently of home construction. A little table stood at the head of the bed, on which were placed a bright brass candlestick, a Bible and prayer-book, and a little cup of flowers, and a shelf on the wall held a slender row of volumes. On an arm-chair near the bed was laid a change of clean linen, and beside it a mourning frock.
The sight of that black frock brought back to my mind all that had passed in the last twenty-four hours. I had been through so much, and the need of action had been so instant, that I had had no time, as it were, to feel what I had lost, but now it came upon me in one moment. My father was dead—murdered by the very man whom he had saved from the effects of what he believed to be a false accusation. His body lay unburied at this moment, a prey to wild animals or more savage men. My mother and myself were exiles in a strange land, never again to see the home where I had grown-up, and where I had lived so happily, in spite of uncertainty and danger.
"Oh, if my father were but here, I would not care for anything else!" I sobbed, and covering my head I wept till I was exhausted, and once more I fell asleep.
I was waked by some one who came very softly into the room bearing a shaded light, and I started up in alarm.
"What has happened?" I asked, only half awake. "Have I been asleep? Has not my father come home?"
"It is I, my love—Cousin Marianne," said the new-comer in a soft, ladylike voice. "Do not be frightened. All is safe. Your mother is awake, and I thought perhaps you would like to rise and take some refreshment with her."
"Is it very late?" I asked, still bewildered. "Has neither my father nor Andrew come back?"
"Recollect yourself, dear child," said my cousin, setting down her light and coming to the bedside. "Do you not remember what has happened?"
"Oh, yes, I remember!" said I, and my tears flowed again.
My cousin sat down on the bedside, laid my head on her shoulder, and wept with me for a while. Then she began gently to soothe and hush me, and by degrees I grew composed, so that when she again proposed to me to try to rise, I was quite ready to comply. She assisted me to dress, but looked a little displeased when she saw the black gown.