'Come, dear cheaile, take your bag; don't mind the rugs, they are safe
enough.'
'But where are we to go? There is no one!' I said, looking round in wonder.
It certainly was a strange reception at an hotel.
'Never mind, my dear cheaile. They know me here, and I have always the same
room ready when I write for it. Follow me quaitely.'
So she mounted, carrying the candle. The stair was steep, and the march
long. We halted at the second landing, and entered a gaunt, grimy passage.
All the way up we had not heard a single sound of life, nor seen a human
being, nor so much as passed a gaslight.
'Viola! here 'tis, my dear old room. Enter, dearest Maud.'
And so I did. The room was large and lofty, but shabby and dismal. There
was a tall four-post bed, with its foot beside the window, hung with
dark-green curtains, of some plush or velvet texture, that looked like
a dusty pall. The remaining furniture was scant and old, and a ravelled
square of threadbare carpet covered a patch of floor at the bedside. The
room was grim and large, and had a cold, vault-like atmosphere, as if
long uninhabited; but there were cinders in the grate and under it.
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