Then Mary, yawning a little,
asked if I wanted anything more, and I was obliged to answer no,
for very shame's sake; and she went. The shutting of the door,
gently as it was closed, affected me unpleasantly. I took a
dislike to the curtains, the tapestry, the dingy pictures--
everything. I hated the room. I felt a temptation to put on a
cloak, run, half-dressed, to my sisters' chamber, and say I had
changed my mind and come for shelter. But they must be asleep, I
thought, and I could not be so unkind as to wake them. I said my
prayers with unusual earnestness and a heavy heart. I extinguished
the candles, and was just about to lay my head on my pillow, when
the idea seized me that I would fasten the door. The candles were
extinguished, but the firelight was amply sufficient to guide me.
I gained the door. There was a lock, but it was rusty or hampered;
my utmost strength could not turn the key. The bolt was broken and
worthless. Balked of my intention, I consoled myself by
remembering that I had never had need of fastenings yet, and
returned to my bed. I lay awake for a good while, watching the red
glow of the burning coals in the grate.
Pages:
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614