There was an unusual colour in her cheeks as we climbed the steps; her lips moved, rehearsing the biting speeches with which she meant to confound Jennie Gwynne. That lady was upstairs superintending the removal of one of the enormous carved wardrobes with full-length mirrors in the doors; we could hear her shrill voice pitched high in command, and the men grunting and shoving. All the doors and windows were wide open, the daylight flaunted shamelessly about the grave, gloomy, reticent old house. A constant bickering of hammers filled the air; they were taking down and boxing the pictures. Half a dozen of the huge line-engravings that used to hang in an orderly row about the walls, "Signing of the Declaration" over one bookcase, "Sistine Madonna," over another, "Jason and Creusa," "C'est Moi; Scene in the Prison of the Conciergerie during the Reign of Terror"--all these artistic treasures, I say, were down and standing about the rooms awaiting their turn. The Governor's portrait leaned against the white marble mantel, and you might see the dust-webs festooning the space where it had hung. "Poor Harriet, she didn't know a thing about keeping house!" sighed Miss Clara, observing them. In the library all the books were piled on the floor, and there stood Gwynne, knee-deep amongst them, in his shirt-sleeves, looking a little helpless and worried. A youngster whom I recognised for one of the Lawrence children was playing on the floor in a corner with a quantity of those small square flat morocco cases decorated with a sort of bas-relief all over the outside, in which daguerreotypes were once enshrined. Mrs. Lawrence was haranguing Gwynne excitedly, yet in a subdued voice, with one wary eye on the stairs. "Of course, I don't say that Cousin Jennie doesn't _mean_ it all for the best, Gwynne, but if she would _only_ consider a little! She's positively _insisted_ on my taking the mahogany hat-rack with the deer's antlers mounted on it, you know--and even after I _said_ to her, 'Why, Cousin Jennie, I'm sure its awfully nice of you to want me to have it, but I'd be afraid to put that thing in my house, the hall's so little, and the stairs come right down by the front door, so there's hardly any room, and I'd be afraid all the time the children would fall down the steps and put their eyes out on those prongs--it's a perfect death-trap!' Now, Gwynne, that's every word I said, and I didn't say it in a disagreeable way at all, I just said, 'Why, Cousin Jennie, I'd be afraid to take that thing in my house; and I _told_ her on account of the children and all, just as nicely as I could, and she got just as mad as could be, and said she supposed I'd like to have the handsomest thing in the house, the dining-room set, or something like that, and you _know_, Gwynne, I never _thought_ of such a thing, and I just wish you'd speak to her----"