She crept up and turned the knob of the outer door. It was unlocked,
and she stole into the inner room, the Paradise, place of joy and
sweet content, heart's rest, soul's heaven, love's own abode. The
very atmosphere soothed her. She heard the janitress clatter through
the halls, lock the door, and descend the stairs to her own rooms in
the basement. The light from the street lamps shone in at the two
end windows, so that the room was not in utter darkness. She would
lie down here and die with Mr. Grubb and the babies and the umbrella.
Atlantic and Pacific would be sure to come back; nobody who had ever
known it could live without this place. Miss Mary would find them.
She would make everything right. The mere thought of Mistress Mary
brought a strange peace into poor Lisa's over-wrought, distraught
mind.
She opened the closet door. It was as dainty and neat as Mistress
Mary herself, and the mere sight of it bred order in Lisa's thoughts.
On the top of a pile of envelopes lay the sewing-picture that
Atlantic had spoiled that day. It had been a black morning, and the
bit of cardboard was torn and soiled and bent. Lisa looked at it
with a maternal and a prophetic eye. She could see the firm line of
Rhoda's lip as she bore down upon the destructive urchin.
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