Part 6 (1/2)

Drusilla looked at her inquiringly.

”What did Miss Thornton say your name was?”

”Jeanne, Madame.”

”Jeanne. That isn't Jane, is it?”

”It may be French for Jane; I am French.”

”Well, then, I'll call you Jane. I can't remember the other. I think I would like to go to bed.”

”Then I will prepare the bath.”

Soon she returned to the room.

”The bath is ready for Madame,” she said; and Drusilla followed her into the bedroom.

There the thoughtfulness of Miss Thornton was again shown. Over a chair hung a warm gray dressing-gown, with slippers to match, and neatly folded on the bed was a soft white nightdress, lace-trimmed, delicate, dainty, the mere touch of which gave delight to the sensitive fingers as they touched its folds.

The bathroom, with its silver fittings, was a revelation to Drusilla; and as she stepped into the warm, slightly perfumed water, it seemed to speak to her more eloquently than all the rest of the seeming miracles that were now coming into her life.

When Drusilla returned to the bedroom she found a shaded light on a table at the head of the bed, and beside the light were her Bible and the life of John Calvin.

She stood a moment looking around the room, and then she knelt beside the bed.

”O G.o.d,” she whispered, ”I hain't never had much to thank you for except for strength to work, but now--dear G.o.d, I thank you!”

CHAPTER III

The next morning Drusilla found herself unconsciously waiting for the rising bell that called the inmates of the Doane home from their slumbers, and when she opened her eyes she could not realize for a moment where she was. Instead of the plain white walls of her room, she saw the soft gray tints of silk and the sheen of silver, and her hands touched a silken-covered eiderdown quilt. She closed her eyes in sheer happiness, and then opened them again to be sure that it was not all a mirage. At last, not being used to lying in bed, she arose and, putting on the dressing-gown, went to one of the windows and raised the shade to look out. She stopped with her hand still on the shade, looking in wonder at the beauty just outside her window. A great copper beach was flaunting its gorgeous colors in the clear morning air; beyond it a clump of blue spruce seemed a background for the riotous autumn tints. At one side of the house was an Italian garden, with terrace after terrace falling toward the river. Across the river, the Palisades rose sheer and steep, their reddish-brown rocks covered with the glow of the morning sun.

Drusilla did not know it, but she was looking at one of the most beautiful of the many beautiful places along the Hudson, a place on which hundreds of thousands of dollars had been spent with a lavish hand. Drusilla drew up a chair and sat by the window, watching the changing shades as the sun became brighter. Then she became interested in the life of the place as it gradually awoke to its morning's work. First a gardener crossed the lawn and began working around the plants; then another came with a rake and commenced raking up the dying leaves; another man wandered down toward the river. A man, evidently a house servant, came across the lawn and, seeing her at the window, went hastily into the house. Soon there was a light knock at the door, and in answer to her ”come in,” Jeanne, the maid, entered.

”Oh, Madame,” she said, ”why did, you not ring? I did not know you were up.”

She bustled about the room, raising shades, and then rang for a man to come and make the fire in the grate. The house seemed warm to Drusilla.

”Do I need a fire?” she asked. ”It's warm in here.”

”Just a little fire, Madame,” said Jeanne; ”it makes the room more cheerful.”

Drusilla laughed. It seemed to her that nothing could make that exquisite room more cheerful.

The maid went to the bedroom and soon returned to announce: ”The bath is ready for Madame.”

Drusilla wondered why she was expected to take another bath, as she had had one the night before. But evidently it was expected of her, and she went into the bathroom and again reveled in the warm, perfumed water. When she returned to the bedroom her clothing of the night before was arranged ready for her to put on, and as she dressed she felt for the first time the coa.r.s.eness of the linen and the ugliness of the plain black dress.

”Would Madame like her breakfast here,” the maid asked, ”or will she go to the breakfast room?”