Crossing the floor, which was covered with dust, and showed the print of every step, he passed into a small bedroom.
A faded carpet lay upon the floor. A bed, covered with a canopy of musquito netting, which once had been blue, but was now faded and discolored with age and dust, stood in one corner.
Pretty lace draperies fell over the window shades, and were looped back with broad satin ribbons, which were also blue. A cherry table and a couple of wicker chairs completed the furnishing of the apartment.
A second door led into another room from this. This stood open, and, passing through, Everet found himself in what must have been the parlor, for it extended the whole width of the house, and had been both richly and tastefully furnished, although, of course, everything was now faded and covered with dust, and had a look of neglect that was forlorn and cheerless.
There were pretty easy-chairs and tempting rockers scattered about; a luxurious sofa in one corner, and a handsome table in the center of the floor, covered with a richly embroidered cloth, evidently the work of a skillful pair of hands, and the young man wondered if Annie Dale had wrought the beautiful thing. There was a small piano between the two front windows, a book-case, filled with books by standard authors, in a corner, and at one end there was a lovely writing-desk, containing numerous drawers and pigeon-holes, and every convenience for writing. A small work-basket, on an elaborate stand, stood beside a pretty rocker by one of the low front windows. It was a dainty affair, lined with crimson satin and garnished with bows of ribbon to match; and Everet Mapleson could imagine just how the graceful figure of the fair girl to whom it had belonged, had looked as she sat beside it, intent upon some delicate bit of sewing or embroidery.
He turned again to the writing-desk, as if he instinctively felt that this was more likely than anything else to contain some information regarding the former occupants of the pretty house.
It was not locked.
He opened it, laying the cover out flat, and then began pulling out the drawers and peering into the various pigeon-holes and compartments.
They were all empty—so far there had not been even a scrap of paper to tell who, in days gone by, had made use of the convenient and elegant affair—and he shut them up again with a sigh of impatience and regret, while a feeling of gloom began to oppress him; there was something very dreary in this house, so completely furnished, yet so silent and deserted.
A sensation of guilt, too, began to intrude uncomfortably upon him. It almost seemed as if the former occupants of this home, although perhaps long since dead and passed beyond all things earthly, were yet spiritually present at that moment, and were viewing, with a reproachful eye, this wanton invasion of the place that had once been sacred to them.