The corners and niches were
filled with plaster casts of famous statuary, which were supposed to
look as fine as their marble originals in the gloom surrounding them.
Every room was crowded with ornaments and knick-knacks, all of which had
some association with herself. Even those apartments not seen by guests
were no less encumbered with mementoes that had been discarded from time
to time in favor of newer treasures. Mrs. Bolton never dared to change
her servants, and it cannot be wondered at, that while offering a home
to her nephew's wife, she could not extend her invitation to a
mischievous boy of seven.
But however interesting Bolton Villa might be to its mistress, it was
not altogether a home favorable for the recovery of a bowed-down spirit,
though Mrs. Bolton could not understand why Sophy, surrounded with so
many blessings and with so much to be thankful for, should fall into a
low, nervous fever shortly after she had parted with her husband and
child. The house was quiet, fearfully quiet to Sophy. There was a
depressing hush about it altogether different from the cheerful
tranquillity of her own home.
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