I gave a cry of delight. It was an octagonal room, the four sides which overlooked the marsh containing each a window, while in one of the other sides was a small fireplace with a bright fire burning. The carpet was new, the wall-paper was new; there were two easy-chairs, one on each side of the fire, a writing-table and a Japanese screen, besides the furniture of my old room. It looked so bright and so pretty that my eyes danced with pleasure at the sight, and I could not speak while Mr. Rayner explained that now I should be high and dry out of the damp, and he expected me to become red-faced and healthy-looking immediately--that he had had tinfoil put behind the paper in one of the cupboards which was considered damp, that the picturesque ivy had been torn down--all but a little bit to hide the unsightly chimney--and that I was to have a fire whenever I liked now, and one every day when it began to grow colder. “I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to thank you,” said I, almost pained by the extent of the kindness showered upon me. I tried to include Mrs. Rayner in my thanks; but she hung back almost ungraciously, and seemed to have been drawn into this demonstration against her will. She was the last of my three visitors to leave the room, and in the moment that we were alone together, before she followed her husband and child downstairs, she said, seeming to be moved out of her reserve by the unaccustomed little excitement, and casting upon me a keen look from her great eyes-- “Are you not afraid of sleeping so far from every one? Or do you prefer it?” I am not at all nervous; but I was enough impressed by her almost eager manner to answer rather shyly-- “No, I don’t prefer it. But there is nothing to be afraid of, is there?” She glanced towards the door, and, saying hurriedly, “Oh, no, of course not! I hope you will be comfortable, Miss Christie,” she left the room.