This frameless picture had a curious effect.

Veronica, in some mysterious way, had contrived to dispose of the white margin of the picture, and the saint looked out from the soft ashy tint of the wallpaper.

Opposite was an exquisite engraving, which was framed with dark red velvet.

At the end of an avenue of old trees, gnarled and twisted into each other, a man stood.

One hand grasped the stalk of a ragged vine, which ran over the tree near him; the other hung helpless by his side, as if the wrist was broken.