England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Families -- Fiction
“Some people have a fad about open windows, and say you should have them
all the year through. Some people have a fad about curtains. I don’t
blame Miss Asquith, for she’s very young: but I think when a young lady
is living with other people she should go by the ways of the house.”
“I don’t see that at all,” said Miss Hofland. “If you’ve any sort of
rights, you’ve a right to arrange your own room as you choose, and I
have never done otherwise. A lady that has to live in other people’s
houses has many things to put up with, but I never should give in to
that. All the same, my dear, when you sleep on the ground-floor you
can’t be too particular. Now lock the door after me, and you will be as
snug and as safe as if you were in a box. Good-night, dear, and sleep
well, and don’t mind if you should hear the house tumbling down. It’s no
concern of ours.”
With this Miss Hofland crossed the little passage to her own door, and
waving her hand, shut and locked it, as Hetty could very well hear. The
housekeeper retired by the other, repeating Miss Hofland’s advice. “Just
turn the key when I’m gone, and then you’ll be sure nothing can happen
to frighten you. And there’s really nothing to frighten any one, only
noises such as you hear in every old house.”
Hetty, with a beating heart, did as she was told; and then the
oppression of this shut-in solitude and silence came round her like a
shroud. The curtains seemed to close round with an ominous envelopment.
The straight lines of the walls, with no windows to break them,
frightened her as if they were the sides of a box, as Miss Hofland had
said. The girl’s nerves were so strained that she burst into one of
those youthful tempests of tears which relieve the bosom. She had
nothing to cry for, nothing. Comfort, luxurious and elaborate,
surrounded her, and no harm was near that she knew of. The fire burned
cheerfully; everything was shut out that could frighten or trouble her.
For what did Hetty cry, or what had she to fear?
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XVIII.
“LET ME GO HOME.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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