After all, however, Hilda was only fifteen; and after a few minutes,
Curiosity began to wake; and after a short struggle with Despair, it
conquered, and she sat up on the bed and looked about her.
It was not a very dreadful cell. A bright, clean, fresh little room, all
white and blue. White walls, white bedstead, with oh! such snowy
coverings, white dimity curtains at the windows, with old-fashioned ball
fringes, a little dimity-covered toilet-table, with a quaint
looking-glass framed with fat gilt cherubs, all apparently trying to
fold their wings in such a way as to enable them to get a peep at
themselves in the mirror, and not one succeeding. Then there was a low
rocking-chair, and another chair of the high-backed order, and a tall
chest of drawers, all painted white, and a wash-hand-stand with a set of
dark-blue crockery on it which made the victim of despair open her eyes
wide. Hilda had a touch of china mania, and knew a good thing when she
saw it; and this deep, eight-sided bowl, this graceful jug with the
quaint gilt dragon for a handle, these smaller jugs, boxes, and dishes,
all of the same pattern, all with dark-blue dragons (no cold "Canton"
blue, but a rich, splendid ultramarine), large and small, prancing and
sprawling on a pale buff ground,--what were these things doing in the
paltry bedroom of a common farm-house? Hilda felt a new touch of
indignation at "these people" for presuming to have such things in their
possession.
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