It was a place of many corners and quaint nooks, and of a flooring so unlevel that she could hardly pass from one room to another without taking a step up or a step down.

Sylvia went about the house quietly and with a certain thoughtfulness.

Here she had been born and a mystery of her life was becoming clear to her.

On this summer evening the windows were set wide in every room, and thus in every room, as she passed up and down, she heard the liquid music of running water, here faint, like a whispered melody, there pleasant, like laughter, but nowhere very loud, and everywhere quite audible.

In one of these rooms she had been born.