We followed her into the room. It was not very small, for it occupied nearly the breadth of the house. On one side the roof sloped so nearly to the floor that there was not height enough to stand erect in. On the other side the sloping part was partitioned off, evidently for a bedroom. But what a change it was from the lower part of the house! By the light of a single mould candle, I saw that the floor was as clean as old boards could be made, and I wondered whether she scrubbed them herself. I know now that she did. The two dormer windows were hung with white dimity curtains. Back in the angle of the roof, between the windows, stood an old bureau. There was little more than room between the top of it and the ceiling for a little plaster statuette with bound hands and a strangely crowned head. A few books on hanging shelves were on the opposite side by the door to the other room; and the walls, which were whitewashed, were a good deal covered with--whether engravings or etchings or lithographs I could not then see--none of them framed, only mounted on card-board. There was a fire cheerfully burning in the gable, and opposite to that stood a tall old-fashioned cabinet piano, in faded red silk. It was open; and on the music-rest lay Handel's "Verdi Prati,"--for I managed to glance at it as we left. A few wooden chairs, and one very old-fashioned easy-chair, covered with striped chintz, from which not glaze only but color almost had disappeared, with an oblong table of deal, completed the furniture of the room. She made my father sit down in the easy-chair, placed me one in front of the fire, and took another at the corner opposite my father. A moment of silence followed, which I, having a guilty conscience, felt awkward. But my father never allowed awkwardness to accumulate. "I had hoped to have been able to call upon you long ago, Miss Clare, but there was some difficulty in finding out where you lived." "You are no longer surprised at that difficulty, I presume," she returned with a smile. "But," said my father, "if you will allow an old man to speak freely"-- "Say what you please, Mr. Walton. I promise to answer _any_ question _you_ think proper to ask me." "My dear Miss Clare, I had not the slightest intention of catechising you, though, of course, I shall be grateful for what confidence you please to put in me. What I meant to say might indeed have taken the form of a question, but as such could have been intended only for you to answer to yourself,--whether, namely, it was wise to place yourself at such a disadvantage as living in this quarter must be to you." "If you were acquainted with my history, you would perhaps hesitate, Mr. Walton, before you said I _placed myself_ at such disadvantage." Here a thought struck me. "I fancy, papa, it is not for her own sake Miss Clare lives here." "I hope not," she interposed.