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opened her eyes. A patch of sunlight lay gold along the brown boards of the bedroom wall; the crisp air of April came in through the open window, but there was no rustle of the full white curtain. Footsteps were going to and fro in passage and kitchen, and from the latter she could hear crackling the just-lit kindling wood. Millicent lay still awhile, and luxuriated in those sounds of work. It was so delicious to feel that it was not she who had to sweep the passage this morning, and light the kitchen fire; that at last, at last! she was away for a holiday, and in a house where the daily duties were to be no concern of hers. What! she would actually be able to take note of other things in this fresh morning light than broom and dust-pan, and the tardy bubbles in the family porridge-pot? The thought was so enlivening that she sprang at once out of bed. She would begin with a look at Nature’s morning housekeeping; she would take a before-breakfast stroll out of doors.

Presently she came out into the great corridor beyond her bedroom. The house was old and large; the walls and floor and ceiling of the passage were all