There were pleasant tokens of feminine occupation on the round table: an open book and a knitting basket that he knew belonged to Dinah, and a piece of embroidery of an ecclesiastical pattern, over which he had often seen Elizabeth bending.
There were the very gold scissors and thimble that she had once left down by the Pool, which cost him and Cedric an hour's search before they could find them.

How pleased she had been when he had brought them back to her! Malcolm felt an irresistible desire to hold them in his hand a moment--then he turned quickly away.
There was a little side window in the drawing-room that formed a sort of alcove; it was fitted up very prettily with palms and flowering plants, and amongst the foliage stood a beautiful marble figure of a Roman peasant with her pitcher on her shoulder.
Malcolm had often admired it.

It was the work of a young German sculptor, whom the sisters found in somewhat distressing circumstances in Rome, with a sick wife and hampered with debt.

Arnim Freiligrath always regarded the dear ladies, as he called them, as his benefactresses, for, strange to say, from that time orders flowed in upon him, and he was soon looked upon as a rising and successful sculptor.
Dinah had once told Malcolm that the woman's features reminded her of Elizabeth, and Malcolm had agreed with her.
"I think it is the figure that most resembles your sister," he had said; "but you were wise to buy it, it is very beautiful, and Arnim Freiligrath is becoming quite the fashion." Malcolm stepped up to the alcove; he would look at his favourite water-carrier again.

He put aside the heavy plush curtains that half-veiled the recess, but the next moment he recoiled--for Elizabeth herself was standing there, almost as motionless as the marble woman beside her.
She was lost in thought, and had evidently not heard his footfall on the soft carpet, and she was gazing out into the darkness.