In the
drawing-room I found more cheering opportunities of emptying my bag. My
aunt's favourite musical pieces were on the piano. I slipped in two more
books among the music. I disposed of another in the back drawing-room,
under some unfinished embroidery, which I knew to be of Lady Verinder's
working. A third little room opened out of the back drawing-room, from
which it was shut off by curtains instead of a door. My aunt's plain
old-fashioned fan was on the chimney-piece. I opened my ninth book at a
very special passage, and put the fan in as a marker, to keep the place.
The question then came, whether I should go higher still, and try the
bed-room floor--at the risk, undoubtedly, of being insulted, if the
person with the cap-ribbons happened to be in the upper regions of the
house, and to find me put. But oh, what of that? It is a poor Christian
that is afraid of being insulted. I went upstairs, prepared to bear
anything. All was silent and solitary--it was the servants' tea-time,
I suppose. My aunt's room was in front. The miniature of my late dear
uncle, Sir John, hung on the wall opposite the bed. It seemed to smile
at me; it seemed to say, "Drusilla! deposit a book.
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