As the church clock struck the quarter past four, the morning-room door
opened; and Mrs. Vanstone crossed the hall alone. She had tried vainly
to compose herself. She was too restless to lie still and sleep. For
a moment she directed her steps toward the portico--then turned, and
looked about her, doubtful where to go, or what to do next. While
she was still hesitating, the half-open door of her husband's study
attracted her attention. The room seemed to be in sad confusion. Drawers
were left open; coats and hats, account-books and papers, pipes and
fishing-rods were all scattered about together. She went in, and pushed
the door to--but so gently that she still left it ajar. "It will amuse
me to put his room to rights," she thought to herself. "I should like to
do something for him before I am down on my bed, helpless." She began
to arrange his drawers, and found his banker's book lying open in one
of them. "My poor dear, how careless he is! The servants might have seen
all his affairs, if I had not happened to have looked in." She set
the drawers right; and then turned to the multifarious litter on
a side-table. A little old-fashioned music-book appeared among the
scattered papers, with her name written in it, in faded ink.
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