Justin willingly disgorged the required sum with rapidly numbing fingers and was led by the grumbling old crone to a small but unexpectedly clean second-floor chamber overlooking the street. With its white-washed walls, small mullioned window, wood fireplace, bureau, bed, table and chair--all these of hard dark maple--and knitted sampler on the wall, it might have been any of thousands of "Colonial" restorations in suburban homes of his own epoch. Since there was no wood in the fireplace, Justin undressed quickly, glad to be out of his raspy clothing, and crawled naked between sheets almost as rough. But fatigue quickly overcame him and he fell into a dreamless sleep of sheer exhaustion. He was awakened by a pock-marked mulatto girl who was apparently in the process of changing his chamberpot. She informed him as he rubbed sleepy eyes, "Ye slept through breakfast, Master. Mistress Cooper ast me to tell ye there's a young leddy downstairs to see ye." Justin got out of bed in a hurry as soon as the slave had left. He let out a gasp as his bare feet struck the icy floorboards, crawled hastily into his ill-fitting clothing. He had to break ice in the basin. Deborah was awaiting him downstairs in the parlor. Wearing a full-skirted tight-bodiced gown of light blue wool that matched her eyes, with blue-and-white bonnet, she looked to Justin delightfully quaint and breathtakingly lovely. She rose from the settee on which she had been waiting and came eagerly to him. But when, after a warm kiss of greeting, he sought to embrace her further she danced away, laughing and saying, "Not now, Charles. Ye'll have Mistress Cooper saying dreadful things about me. 'Tis a fine winter's morning outdoors. I came to show ye the sights." He went upstairs for his own borrowed cloak and by the time he got down she had already donned hers, a warm-looking grey wool wrap with grey woolen mittens to match. Outside the sun was bright and the night chill was off the air. Deborah said, watching her own breath congeal and mingle with his, "I had to come and see that ye made Mistress Cooper's safely. I lay abed and fretted for ye all night long." "You don't look it," he told her. Then he looked at the snow-covered city about him. There it stood, the Boston of his studies, of his dreams, the quaint old shops and houses and taverns, many with overhanging eaves and gables, the ancient signs, some fresh, some weathered, the innumerable and oddly-designed weather vanes and chimney pots.