She was still somewhat shaken by the emotions she had just experienced, but this change of scene brought different sensations and dried her tears. Her first feeling was one of intense relief. Here she was, whether wisely or not she could not tell, but she was glad she had come. She advanced to the centre of the room, and gazed about her at the objects that were his. The first thing that always struck her in any room was its pictures, and here she saw a number of famous astronomers and mathematicians, stiffly arranged in chronological order. There were no Venetian scenes or cathedrals, but above the fireplace she saw an etching of the library of his _alma mater_, surmounted by his college flag. What a contrast to the room she called her own! The very atmosphere was different, for mingled with the odour of burning logs she detected a suggestion of tobacco smoke, so faint that only a woman would have perceived it. The simplicity of the place, the absence of ornate decoration, was like him, she reflected. Artistic herself to an exceptional degree, she had never cared for men who possessed an equal knowledge of such things; they were either professional artists, or somehow less than manly. She was familiar with the rooms of St. George's Hall, and knew to a nicety what furniture and pictures and hangings were best suited to the suggestions inherent in the deep stone windows, the small, leaded panes, the massive fireplaces. Of these things she saw no examples; but on the large desk, littered with a profusion of books and pipes and papers, her glance was arrested by the sight of several candlesticks of various sizes and of beautiful workmanship. She was struck by this as by a psychological singularity, and counted the number--four on the table and three others on the mantel, seven in all, the number freighted with so many religious associations. She wondered whether there were some astronomical association also. Were there seven stars in the Pleiades? She went to the window and stood looking out at the shadow of the Hall, creeping more rapidly now toward the edge of the plateau. The austere gloom of the scene, the strange, red light of the sunset striking across the eastern valley to the vague blue hills on the horizon, were unutterably sad, and her desolate mood returned, shot through by fear as the time of his arrival became a matter of moments. What was she to say to him? What would he think? Was there yet time to change her mind and make her escape?