"So much money had been spent and so many debts remained to be paid, that there was but little to expend upon furniture, and Mrs. Van Der Vaughan could not appoint her house in a style so gorgeous as would have satisfied her ambition. However, it was furnished in the manner that you now see, which, after all, is much handsomer than anything that was known to the grand old Van Der Vaughans in their grandest days of, no doubt, fabulous grandeur. "It was about the first of November that the last of the Van Der Vaughans removed into this house. "The plastering of the sleeping-rooms was not so well dried as had been supposed. This was soon ascertained by Mr. Van Der Vaughan, who advised and entreated his wife to delay the removal. "But when had Madeleine Van Der Vaughan yielded to any will but her own? With the impatience and fever of a long desire, she hastened to take possession of her new residence. "Although the weather had continued fine, with westerly or southerly winds, up to the day of removal, yet then the wind shifted to the east, blowing up masses of dark clouds and cold mists, followed by rain and even sleet. "Alas! worn out by self-assumed, unnecessary burdens, Madeleine Van Der Vaughan was in no condition successfully to meet a change of weather and other circumstances. Moreover, she, so earnest in her ambition, so zealous for ostentation, was fatally careless in regard to her own personal comforts. There was no grate or stove in her chamber, or in any other room in the house; all depended upon open fireplaces, which, however handsome, cheerful and poetic they may look, are not always just the very best things for damp houses in severe weather. "Mrs. Van Der Vaughan's chamber could not be properly dried and heated. The consequence was that she took a severe cold, which fell upon her lungs, and from which she, in her enfeebled state, had not power to recover. She dropped into a rapid consumption, and in six weeks from her triumphant _entrée_ into her new house, she was borne thence to the family burial-ground, that you may see from your windows." "Poor lady! What room did she occupy?" "Yours." "And--she died there?" "Yes; she died there, a victim, I am sure, of her own impatient, feverish ambition." "Do not judge her harshly." "I do not. This is the reputation she has left behind her." "Yet it may not have been her true character. Reputation is one thing, character is another," said I, falling into thought, and then reflecting that much yet must remain to be told, to give me a sure clew to the household mystery. "Well, what else?" I inquired. "What else, my dear? Why, nothing else. I have told you all her story to her death," said Mathilde, uneasily. "But, after all," said I, "one of the most interesting things in the connection, is your father's purchase of this fine property."