CHAPTER XXVIII 417
Entering the gate and passing the shrubs , the silhouette of a house rose to view , black , low , and rather long ; but the guiding light shone nowhere . All was obscurity . Were the inmates retired to rest ? I feared it must be so . In seeking the door , I turned an angle : there shot out the friendly gleam again , from the lozenged panes of a very small latticed window , within a foot of the ground , made still smaller by the growth of ivy or some other creeping plant , whose leaves clustered thick over the portion of the house wall in which it was set . The aperture was so screened and narrow , that curtain or shutter had been deemed unnecessary ; and when I stooped down and put aside the spray of foliage shooting over it , I could see all within . I could see clearly a room with a sanded floor , clean scoured ; a dresser of walnut , with pewter plates ranged in rows , reflecting the redness and radiance of a glowing peat-fire . I could see a clock , a white deal table , some chairs . The candle , whose ray had been my beacon , burnt on the table ; and by its light an elderly woman , somewhat rough-looking , but scrupulously clean , like all about her , was knitting a stocking .
I noticed these objects cursorily only -- in them there was nothing extraordinary . A group of more interest appeared near the hearth , sitting still amidst the rosy peace and warmth suffusing it . Two young , graceful women -- ladies in every point -- sat , one in a low rocking-chair , the other on a lower stool ; both wore deep mourning of crape and bombazeen , which sombre garb singularly set off very fair necks and faces : a large old pointer dog rested its massive head on the knee of one girl -- in the lap of the other was cushioned a black cat .
A strange place was this humble kitchen for such occupants ! Who were they ? They could not be the daughters of the elderly person at the table ; for she looked like a rustic , and they were all delicacy and cultivation . I had nowhere seen such faces as theirs : and yet , as I gazed on them , I seemed intimate with every lineament . I cannot call them handsome -- they were too pale and grave for the word : as they each bent over a book , they looked thoughtful almost to severity . A stand between them supported a second candle and two great volumes , to which they frequently referred , comparing them , seemingly , with the smaller books they held in their hands , like people consulting a dictionary to aid them in the task of translation . This