A Prisoner of Love 
     
    
   
   
    
     to a low brown door opening on the 
     
     right. 
     
    

    
     “ Go in and sit down. I’ll call 
     
     Thomas,” she said coldly, as she walked 
     
     out through the hall. 
     
    

    
     Eric walked into the parlour and sat 
     
     down as bidden. He found himself in the 
     
     most old-fashioned room he had ever seen. 
     
     The solidly made chairs and tables, of 
     
     some wood grown dark and polished with 
     
     age, made even Mrs. Williamson’s “ par— 
     
     lour set ” of horsehair seem extrava- 
     
     gantly modern by contrast. The painted 
     
     floor was covered with round braided 
     
     rugs. On the centre table was a lamp, a 
     
     Bible and some theological volumes con- 
     
     temporary with the square—runged furni- 
     
     ture. The walls, wainscoted half way up 
     
     in wood and covered for the rest with a 
     
     dark, diamond—patterned paper, were 
     
     hung with faded engravings, mostly of 
     
     clerical—looking, bewigged personages in 
     
     gowns and bands. 
     
    

    
     But over the high, undecorated black 
     
    
   
   
    
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