These were bare and gaunt, so that she, with her feminine sense of fitness, of course considered what she would do to make them habitable.

She had a neat fancy for furniture, and distributed her tones and half tones and bits of colour freely about the walls and ceilings, with a high-backed chair here, a spindle-legged sofa there, and a claw-footed table in the centre, until her eye was caught by a very dirty deal desk, on which stood an open book, with an inkstand and some pens.

On the leaf she read the last entry: "Eli M.Grow and lady, Thermopyle Centre." Not even the graves outside had brought the horrors of war so near.
What a scourge it was! This respectable family turned out of such a lovely house, and all the pretty old furniture swept away before a horde of coarse invaders "with ladies." Did the hosts of Attila write their names on visiting books in the temple of Vesta and the house of Sallust?
What a new terror they would have added to the name of the scourge of God! Sybil returned to the portico and sat down by Carrington on the steps.
"How awfully sad it is!" said she; "I suppose the house was prettily furnished when the Lees lived here?
Did you ever see it then ?" Sybil was not very profound, but she had sympathy, and at this moment Carrington felt sorely in need of comfort.

He wanted some one to share his feelings, and he turned towards her hungry for companionship.
"The Lees were old family friends of mine," said he.

"I used to stay here when I was a boy, even as late as the spring of 1861.