Chapter 24

"Your name abruptly mentioned, casual words
Of comment on your deeds, praise from your uncle,
News from the armies, talk of your return,
A word let fall touching your youthful passion
Suffused her cheek, called to her drooping eye
A momentary lustre."

I had no difficulty in putting my project of a private interview with
Grace, in execution in my own house. There was one room at Clawbonny,
that, from time immemorial, had been appropriated exclusively to the
use of the heads of the establishment; It was called the "family
room," as one would say "family-pictures" or "family--plate." In my
father's time, I could recollect that I never dreamed of entering it,
unless asked or ordered; and even then, I always did so with some such
feeling as I entered a church. What gave it a particular and
additional sanctity in out eyes, also, was the fact that the
Wallingford dead were always placed in their coffins, in this room,
and thence they were borne to their graves. It was a very small
triangular room, with the fire-place in one corner, and possessing but
a single window, that opened on a thicket of rose-bushes, ceringos,
and lilacs. There was also a light external fence around this
shrubbery, as if purposely to keep listeners at a distance. The
apartment had been furnished when the house was built, being in the
oldest part of the structures, and still retained its ancient
inmates. The chairs, tables, and, most of the other articles, had
actually been brought from England, by Miles the First, as we used to
call the emigrant; though, he was thus only in reference to the
Clawbonny dynasty, having been something like Miles the Twentieth, in
the old country. My mother had introduced a small settee, or some such
seat as the French would call a _causeuse;_ a most appropriate
article, in such a place.

In preparation for the interview I had slipped into Grace's hand a
piece of paper, on which was written "meet me in the family-room,
precisely at six!" This was sufficient; at the hour named, I proceeded
to the room, myself. The house of Clawbonny, in one sense, was large
for an American residence; that is to say, it covered a great deal of
ground, every one of the three owners who preceded me, having built;
the two last leaving entire the labours of the first. My turn had not
yet come, of course; but the reader knows already that I, most
irreverently, had once contemplated abandoning the place, for a "seat"
nearer the Hudson. In such a _suite_ of constructions, sundry
passages became necessary, and we had several more than was usual at
Clawbonny, besides having as many pairs of stairs. In consequence of
this ample provision of stairs, the chambers of