I could not help holding up the lantern to look in.
There was the bed, with its fair white covering and its smooth,
soft pillows; there were the easy-chairs, the pretty curtains, the
neat and cheerful carpet, the bureau, with Euphemia's work-basket
on it; there was the little table with the book that we had been
reading together, turned face downward upon it; there were my
slippers; there was--
"Come!" said Euphemia, "I can't bear to look in there. It's like a
dead child."
And so we hurried out into the night and the rain. We stopped at
the wood-shed and got an armful of dry kindling, which Euphemia was
obliged to carry, as I had the bundle of bed-clothing, the
umbrella, and the lantern.
Lord Edward gave a short, peculiar bark as we shut the gate behind
us, but whether it was meant as a fond farewell, or a hoot of
derision, I cannot say.
We found everything as we left it at the camp, and we made our beds
apparently dry. But I did not sleep well. I could not help
thinking that it was not safe to sleep in a bed with a substratum
of wet mattress, and I worried Euphemia a little by asking her
several times if she felt the dampness striking through.
To our great delight, the next day was fine and clear, and I
thought I would like, better than anything else, to take Euphemia
in a boat up the river and spend the day rowing about, or resting
in shady places on the shore.
But what could we do about the tent? It would be impossible to go
away and leave that, with its contents, for a whole day.
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