“I think I know your taste in lodgings. You have a cat-like love of garrets,” said the lady, smiling. “Oh, yes, indeed I have; but I wonder how you know it, madam?” exclaimed the girl in open-eyed astonishment. “I think I should have known it by intuition even if your mother had not told me, as she did,” said the lady, as she passed the second landing and led her companion still higher. They went up to the attic hall, with a floor inlaid of maple and black walnut; with broad, stained glass windows at each end, which threw a cathedral light over all, and doors on each side leading into closed rooms; and, lastly, with one tall and narrow door in the corner, toward which the lady led her guest. They passed through it and up a narrow but very pretty flight of stairs that led them to an upper door, which the lady opened. Em. made an exclamation of surprise and delight. “This is your apartment, my little love,” said Emolyn. The simple maiden gazed around her in a perfect ecstasy of admiration. The sudden transit from the staircase to this radiant scene was almost like the work of enchantment. Now I wish my readers to see this beautiful room in their mind’s eye as clearly as I saw it. It was at the top of the highest tower of the Edengarden Villa. It was a large, lofty, octagon-shaped room, whose eight sides were filled with high, broad mirrors and windows, alternating with each other, and all alike draped with rose-colored silk and white lace curtains to give uniformity. The floor was covered with a carpet which, from its hue and softness, seemed formed of blush roses and water lilies. Elegant cabinets, stands and tables of white satinwood, inlaid with flowers formed of malachite, mother-of-pearl, coral and turquoise, stood near the silver-gilded pillars between the windows and the mirrors. Sofas, divans and luxurious chairs of white satinwood, upholstered in rose-colored velvet and white chenille fringe, sat about in convenient places, inviting repose. Statuettes of Parian marble—miniature copies of the great masterpieces of sculpture, and vases of rare Sèvres china, Bohemian glass, or alabaster, loaded with choice exotics, adorned the brackets which were attached around the walls. The ceiling was a cupola, painted in fresco, of opal-tinted clouds on a pale blue morning sky. But the central summit of this cupola was a skylight composed of one solid sheet of thick, clear plate-glass, through which the heavens could be seen by day or night. Em. gazed around on this fairy chamber, too much lost in admiration even to ask herself whether it were not too rare and costly, too dainty and delicate for daily use. “This is your boudoir, my bird. It is the topmost room in the high tower. But this tower, as you may have observed from seeing it on the outside, is flanked by four turrets, each with its row of long, narrow windows.” “Oh, yes, madam, I have seen them all, and this chamber lifted up among the clouds, as it seemed to be.”