"Whenever I think of that house I am again conscious of the atmosphere that pervaded it. A scent of sandalwood and lavender is faintly perceptible. The partially drawn blinds diffuse a mellow half light. The air stealing through an open window puffs out the white muslin curtains; lilac bushes and clematis cling to the wall outside. A girl sits at the piano with smooth, light-brown hair slightly fluffed on either side of her face like a dove's wing. She is playing Mendelssohn's 'Songs without Words.' The whole place breathes purity and peace. Girls in fresh, spotless gowns move about the rooms. In the evening quick steps and fresh young voices break on the stillness when the men return from the City; brothers and cousins—mostly tall and handsome, bringing with them a sense of life and movement."
Amy's younger sister Veronica made up in a measure for what was wanting in Amy, and a year passed in delightful intimacy among the three, which was destined to be interrupted in an unforeseen manner. Veronica's confirmation brought on talk of theology, to which Mathilde had hitherto been a stranger. Another school friend, Lizzie Letchford (it will be understood that all these names are pseudonyms), lent her a Bible, and encouraged her to study it with more attention than heretofore. Mathilde found herself in a new world, on which she thus reflects in after years:—
"I had hitherto lived in a castle of dreams. I had watched the shadows of the outer world in that magic mirror we call poetry, and the reflection was more enchanting than the thing reflected. And in this vision of life the riddle of it had never yet touched or humbled me. I lived in a region where pleasure lost its fever and pain its sting. Sensation came through a softening medium in which discords were resolved into harmony.
