Olive found that what little of the old dislike that lingered in her memory was fast vanishing, but before she could speak, he had whisked back into his odd, abrupt way. "What stupids we are, to be sure; never ask you to take off your things, or wash your face; and it's dirty sure as I'm alive! but then, there's enough smoke and dust and stuff, between here and New York, to dirty the faces of all the angel hosts, so you needn't mind; though I don't suppose you do; bless me! no; but then, you had better go and wash it. Jeanie, Olive is ready to go up stairs." Jean had been fluttering about Olive's chair in impatient eagerness, and now signified her readiness to act as guide by seizing her hand and hurrying out. "I was so afraid he would keep you there to talk," she said, as they went up the wide stairway, and through the hall, that made Olive open her eyes in spite of herself, for she never had seen such lavish display of elegance; and she was immediately seized with an old feeling of awkward strangeness, that brought a defiant color to her face, as she thought of any one discovering that she was unused to any elegance or custom that might reign in Congreve Hall. "Uncle Ridley had these rooms fixed for you," said Jean, throwing open a large door, and ushering her in. "See, aren't they just beautiful?" "Yes, indeed," exclaimed Olive in quick delight; for they were certainly gems to make a girl rejoice. Three, with a bath-room, all complete, and looking like Titania's bower in their delicate green coloring and bamboo furniture. The carpets were like untouched moss clinging fresh and sweet, to mother-rocks, and to Olive, it seemed almost like sacrilege to tread upon it. From the wide, deep windows was a view, such as would hold the most careless gazer in a moment of ecstasy, and after one quick cry of artistic appreciation, Olive stood mutely entranced. Looking down, there were occasional glimpses of the magnificent lawn, with here and there, a rustic seat, and white statue, thrown in bold relief as seen through the tossing foliage; and looking out, there showed the road winding down through the mountains, every now and then disappearing, until finally lost to view; and farther off, and down in the valley lay Staunton, the busy, beautiful city, with its church spires rising into the hazy atmosphere, as though in defiance to the lofty peaks towering so much higher, and printing themselves against the sky in the far distance, in jagged, immovable lines, that looked like relentless guards to something beyond. "Do you want a maid?" asked Jean, breaking in upon her reverie. "Uncle Ridley sent to ask you."