Her impressions that first night in her new home were most indistinct. She had a floating conception during dinner of old mahogany, silver, and armor. Later, in the library, as she listened to Thurston entertaining his mother with details of his American trip, she was the victim of a feeling of unreality, inspired by surroundings altogether new and so entirely old. The candle-light seemed to point, with long, mysterious fingers, to the books which lined the walls, indicating dark and magic secrets locked between their ancient covers, and to waver upon the faded figures in the Gobelin tapestries until they appeared to move, endowed with life. Lady Canning, leaning back near the fire, with her fine, pinched features, her white, fragile hands resting motionless upon the arms of her chair, seemed like a figure moulded in wax. When his mother retired, Thurston took Indiana through the house. Jennings solemnly preceded them, lighting up the rooms. Standing in the background, he nodded his head from time to time in corroboration, as Thurston explained the family portraits and related the histories of various heirlooms. As the first months in England slowly passed, Indiana’s single life seemed like a dream to her. Her marriage proved the changing of every condition, as she had wished. And she preferred to think she had acted for the best. One fact gave her a great and unselfish pleasure. She had won Lady Canning’s love, completely, by pursuing the artful policy with which she had started, based on a very shrewd idea of the elder woman’s character. Thurston missed her old spontaneity, and watched her closely, unknown to her. His loving solicitude, which often tried to discover delicately if she missed her old life, or if there was anything lacking in the new which he could supply, only made her impatient. She professed to be perfectly happy, yet he sometimes felt as though he had caged a bird, who refused to sing. Still the bird had flown willingly into his hand. His tender worship had won nothing from her, so far, but an amiable tolerance. They were in the position of queen and vassal. His pride suffered bitterly at times. His hope that she would learn to love him had grown into a great and secret longing. He felt it to be the only solution of them both. His very existence was now based on this consummation. The best of life is given to building a beautiful fabric of spider’s webs, colored with the passing tints of the rainbow—because there is an everlasting charm in that which fades before the eyes, and can be demolished by a touch. *CHAPTER XIV.* *Transplantation.*