The contrast was sharp, blinding, and distinct; even the edges of the opening were black; the outer light halted on the threshold and never penetrated within.

The warm odor of verbena and dried rose leaves stole from a half-open door somewhere in the cloistered gloom.

Guided by it, Clarence presently found himself on the threshold of a low-vaulted room.

Two other narrow embrasured windows like the one he had just seen, and a fourth, wider latticed casement, hung with gauze curtains, suffused the apartment with a clear, yet mysterious twilight that seemed its own.

The gloomy walls were warmed by bright-fringed bookshelves, topped with trifles of light feminine coloring and adornment.