At the moment when Ensign Ronayne removed his sword, with the intention
of handing it to his commanding officer, in anticipation of the arrest
which he expected, Maria Heywood, little conversant with those military
formalities, and apprehending from the previous high tone of her lover,
that something fearful was about to occur, had not absolutely fainted,
but become so agitated, that Mrs. Elmsley was induced to take her back
to the sofa, on which she had previously been reclining. As she was
leaving her chair, Mrs. Headley, whose attention had also been arrested
by the loud and angry voice of her husband, came from her own door
and joined the little group, anxiously inquiring the cause of the
disturbance without.
In a few brief sentences, and as correctly as she was able, Mrs. Elmsley
explained to her the circumstances, and although her attentive auditor
offered no very pointed remark, it was evident from her manner that
she deeply deplored that strict military punctilio, which had led the
husband whom she both loved and esteemed, to place himself in a false
position with his own force--for that it was a false position in some
degree, to provoke insubordination, and yet be without the power to
punish it, she had too much good sense not to perceive. She felt the
more annoyed, because she had on more than one occasion, observed that
there was not that unanimity between her husband and Lieutenant Elmsley,
which she conceived ought to exist between parties so circumstanced--a
commander of a remote post, and his second in command, on whose mutual
good understanding, not only the personal security of all might depend,
but the existence of those social relations, without which, their
isolated position involved all the unpleasantness of a voluntary
banishment. This had ever been to her a source of regret, and she had on
several occasions, although in the most delicate and unobtrusive manner,
hinted at the fact; but the man who doated upon her, and to whom, in all
other respects, her desire was law, evinced so much inflexibility in all
that appertained to military etiquette, that she had never ventured
to carry her allusions beyond the light commentary induced by casual
reference to the subject.
If then she lamented that unfortunate coolness, if not absolute
estrangement, which existed between Lieutenant Elmsley and her husband,
bow much more acutely did she feel the difficulty of the position now,
when the only other responsible officer of the garrison--and that a
young man of high feeling and accomplishment, whom she had ever liked
and admired--was fast being led into the same antagonism. Nay, what
rendered the matter more painful to her, was the fact of the latter
being the lover, or perhaps the affianced of a girl, whom she regarded
with a fervor not often felt by one woman for another, and for whose
interests she could have made every sacrifice, not affecting those of
her husband.
Such were the women who were now seated on the ottoman, engaged more
in their own reflections, than in conversation, when Lieutenant Elmsley
entered the room, announcing that the truant would shortly be in for
breakfast, which, he requested, might be instantly prepared in the usual
manner, only adding thereto a couple of bottles of claret.
“Ah! pardon me, Mrs. Headley,” he added, somewhat stiffly, as his wife
left the room to issue the necessary orders, “I did not see you, or I
should have been rather more ceremonious in my domestic communications.”
Mrs. Headley slightly colored. She was sensible that pique towards her
husband, and a belief that she wholly shared his sentiments, had induced
this rather sarcastic speech.
“By no means, Mr. Elmsley. I trust you will not put ME down as a
stranger, whatever your disposition to others.”
There was a significance in the manner in which this was said, that
deeply touched the lieutenant, and his tone immediately changed.
“Then, I take you at your word,” he said. “It is a long time since I
have had the pleasure of seeing you here, and you must positively join
our second breakfast. I know Captain Headley is engaged with Winnebeg,
whom he purposes sending off this evening with despatches, so that you
will not be missed for at least an hour. There, look at Miss Heywood's
imploring look--she pleads with her eyes in my favor, although there is
no chance, it appears, of getting a word from her lips.”
“Nay,” remarked the other, who had rallied from her late despondency,
on hearing the object of the breakfast; “you are very unreasonable, Mr.
Elmsley. You do not deserve that I should speak to you to-day, and I am
not quite sure that I shall.”
“And pray, fair lady, why not? Wherein have I had the misfortune to
offend?”
“Ah! do you forget? You promised to bring me a certain report of certain
occurrences, and yet instead of that, not a word have you condescended
to address to me until this moment.”
“I plead guilty,” he answered deprecatingly, “but pray for a suspension
of sentence, until the return of one through whose influence I hope to
obtain your pardon! I go now,” he whispered, “to lead him to your feet.”
“Well, what is the great question you have to put to me?” said the
lieutenant to his friend, whom he had rejoined, and with whom he now
returned slowly towards the house--“one involving a case of life and
death it might be imagined, from the long face you put on when alluding
to the matter.”
“Nay, not exactly that, but still involving a good deal. Tell me
frankly, Elmsley, has Miss Heywood heard any further account of the
events at the farm-house?”
“She has heard the report brought in by Nixon and the rest of the
fishing-party.”
“And what was that, I pray you?” eagerly returned the ensign.
“That Mr. Heywood had been carried off by the Indians.”
“From whom did she hear it?”
“It was I who told her, on the strength of what the corporal reported,
not only to myself, but to Captain Headley.”
“You are a considerate fellow, Elmsley,” said his friend, warmly
pressing his hand. “I thank you for that, and now that the great
question, as you term it, is answered, I am quite ready for the promised
breakfast. Did these fellows bring home any fish? I have a great fancy
for fish this morning.”
“No; they brought home dead men,” and the lieutenant looked searchingly
into the face of his companion, dwelling on every word, moreover, as if
he would convey that he (Ronayne), knew perfectly well what freight the
boat had brought to the Fort.
Further remark was prevented by their arrival at their destination--the
front-door being open, and revealing the little party within. The first
upon, whom the young officer's eye fell, was Mrs. Headley, of whose
intended presence, his friend had not thought of apprising him. Still
smarting under a keen sense of the severity of reproof of his commanding
officer, and falling into the common error of involving the wife in the
unamiability of the husband, Ronayne would have retired, even at the
risk of losing his breakfast, and, what was of far more moment to him,
of delaying his meeting with her to whom his every thought was devoted.
But when Mrs. Headley, who had remarked the movement, came forward to
the door, and gave him her hand with all the warmth and candor of her
noble nature, the pique vanished from his mind, and in an instant,
he, like Elmsley, evinced that devotion and regard for her, which her
fascinating manner could not fail to inspire.
The sense of constraint being thus banished by the only one whose
presence had occasioned it, the party, after a few minutes low
conversation between the lovers, sat down gaily to a meal--half-break
fast, half-luncheon, at which the most conspicuous actor was the lately
reprimanded ensign.
“Really, Mr. Ronayne, you must have met with a perfect chapter of
adventures during your absence last night. You have devoured the last
four fresh eggs, my cook says, there were in the house--three limbs of a
prairie fowl, and nearly the half of a young bear ham. Do, pray, tell
us where you have been to gain such an appetite? Indeed you must--I am
dying to know.”
“My dear Mrs. Elmsley,” he replied, coloring, “where should I have been
but in the Fort?”
“True! where SHOULD you have been, indeed; but this is not the point,
my hungry gentleman. Where WERE you? If I was, I KNOW WHO,” she added,
significantly, “I should have my suspicions, unless, indeed, you have
already confessed within the few minutes you have been in the room.”
“Nay, do not imagine I have so much influence over the truant, as to
compel him to the confessional,” said Maria Heywood. “I assure you I am
quite as much in the dark as any one present.”
“Come, Mr. Ronayne, recount your adventures,” added Mrs. Headley.
“Recollect you are not on parade now, or exactly before the sternest
Court of Inquiry in the world, and should therefore, entertain no dread
of punishment on your self-conviction.”
“Thus urged and encouraged,” said the ensign, during one of the short
pauses of his knife and fork, which, in truth, he had handled as much
to study what he should say, as to satisfy his hunger; “who could resist
such pleading, were there really any thing to communicate; but I am
quite at a loss to conceive why so general an opinion seems to prevail
that I have been out of the Fort, and in quest of adventure. Why not
rather ascribe my tardiness at parade to some less flattering cause--a
head-ache--fatigue from night-watching--indolence, or even a little
entetement, arising from the denial of a very imprudent request I made
to Captain Headley last evening, to allow me the command of a detachment
for a particular purpose. Pardon me, I have made quite a speech, but
indeed you compel me.”
“Let us drown this inquisition in a bumper of claret,” interposed
Elmsley, coming to the assistance of his friend, whose motive for thus
parrying inquiry into his conduct, he thought he could divine. “I say,
my dear fellow, you may wish yourself a head-ache--fatigue--indolence,
or even a little entetement every morning of your life, if it is to be
cured in this manner. This is some of the most splendid Lafayette that
ever found its way into these western wilds. Look well at it. It is of
the clearest, the purest blood of the grape--taste it again. A bottle of
it will do you no harm if you had twenty guards in charge.”
As he had desired and expected, the introduction of his remarks on
the wine proved not only a means of changing the conversation, but of
causing the ladies to withdraw from the table, round which they had been
sitting, rather to keep the young officer company, than to participate
in the repast themselves. Mrs. Headley was the first to move.
“Give me your arm, and see me home,” she said carelessly, to Ronayne,
who now having finished his breakfast, had also risen. “Do not be
jealous, my dear Miss Heywood, but you will later know, if you do
not know already, that the wife of the commanding officer always
appropriates to herself, the handsomest unmarried young officer of the
regiment.”
Both Ronayne and his betrothed were too quick of apprehension not to
perceive, under this light gaiety, a deep interest, and a desire to
convey to them both, that, if unhappily, there did not exist a cordial
understanding between her husband and the former, in matters purely
military, and in relation to subjects which should have no influence
over private life, she was by no means, a party to the disunion.
“Not very difficult to choose between the handsomest and the cleverest
of the unmarried officers of the garrison of Chicago,” replied Maria
Heywood with an effort at cheerfulness; “therefore, Mr. Ronayne, I
advise you not to be too much elated by Mrs. Headley's compliment. After
that caution, I think you may be trusted with her.”
“What a noble creature, and what a pity she has so cold and pompous a
husband,” remarked Lieutenant Elmsley, as Mrs. Headley disappeared from
the door-way. “I never knew her so well as this morning, and upon my
word, Margaret, were both HE and YOU out of the way, I should be greatly
tempted to fall in love with her.”
“You would act wisely if you did, George; I have always thought most
highly of her. She is, it is true, a little reserved in manner, but that
I am sure comes wholly from a certain restraint, imposed upon her by
her husband's formality of character. I say I am sure of this, for there
have been occasions when I have seen her exhibit a warmth of address, as
different from her general demeanor, as light is from shadow.”
“Perhaps Headley has systematically drilled her into the particular
bearing that ought to be assumed by the wife of the commandant of a
garrison.”
“Nay, George! that is not generous, but I know you are not serious in
what you say. You judge Mrs. Headley better, and that she is not a
woman to be so drilled. She has too much good sense, despite all
her partiality for her husband, to allow herself to be improperly
influenced, where her judgment condemns; and although, as his wife, she
must necessarily act in concert with him, it by no means follows that
she approves unreservedly, all that he does.”
“You are a dear, noble creature yourself!” exclaimed the gratified
Elmsley, as he fondly embraced his wife. “There is nothing I love so
much as to see one woman warm in the defence of another--one so seldom
meets with that sort of thing. What, Maria, tears?”
“Yes--tears of pleasure!” she answered earnestly, as she held her
handkerchief to her eyes--“tears of joy to see so much generosity of
feeling among those whom I have so much reason to esteem and admire. You
are right,” she pursued, addressing Mrs. Elmsley, “she is indeed a noble
woman. Perhaps I may justly be accused of a little partiality, for I
never can forget the frank and cordial proffers of friendship with which
she received me on the first night of my appearance here.”
“Ha! Von Vottenberg to the rescue!” exclaimed Elmsley, with sudden
animation, as the stout figure of the former shaded the door-way. “Well,
doctor, have you passed away in the evaporation produced by fright, the
violent head-ache you were suffering from this morning? If not, try that
claret. It is capital stuff, and a tumbler of it will make up for the
breakfast you have lost.”
“Faith, and there is no breakfast lost, that I can perceive,” chuckled
the doctor, seating himself unceremoniously at the table, and commencing
upon the remains of the bear ham, and prairie hen.
“I fear the tea and coffee are cold,” said Mrs. Elmsley; “let me get
some hot for you?”
“By no means, my dear Mrs. Elmsley, I could not think of such slops with
generous claret at my elbow. Nay, do not look offended. Your tea and
coffee are always of the best, but they do not just now, suit my taste.
Miss Heywood, how do you do this morning? How is your gentle mother?
I have called expressly to see her. Elmsley, where is that runaway,
Ronayne?”
And where indeed was he? They had not walked more than three or four
paces, when Mrs. Headley, after some little hesitation, addressed him
thus:--
“Mr. Ronayne, notwithstanding your evident desire to conceal the fact,
I can plainly see that you were not within the Fort last night. I can
fully comprehend that your motive for absenting yourself, has been
praiseworthy, but you must also admit that the reproof you met with this
morning, was not altogether undeserved. Pray do not start or look grave,
for, believe me, I am speaking to you only as a friend--indeed it was to
have the opportunity of convincing you that I am such, that I asked you
to escort me.”
“Really, Mrs. Headley,” interrupted the young officer, little divining
to what all this was to tend, and feeling not altogether at his ease,
from the abruptness with which the subject had been introduced, “I feel
as I ought, the interest you profess to take in me, but how is that
connected either with my asserted absence, or the reproof it entailed?”
“It is so far connected with it, that I wish to point out the means by
which any unpleasant result may be avoided!”
“Unpleasant result! Mrs. Headley?”
“Yes, unpleasant result, for I have too good an opinion of you not
to believe that any thing tending to destroy the harmony of our very
limited society, would be considered such by you.”
“I am all attention, Madam. Pray, proceed.”
“The pithiness of your manner does not afford me much encouragement yet
I will not be diverted from my purpose, even by that. You have had the
Commandant's lecture,” she continued, with an attempt at pleasantry,
“and now you must prepare yourself for (pardon the coinage of the term)
that of the Commandantess.”
“The plot thickens,” said the ensign, somewhat sharply--“both the
husband and the wife. Jupiter Tonans and Juno the Superb in judgment
upon poor me in succession. Ah! that is too bad. But seriously, Mrs.
Headley, I shall receive with all due humility, whatever castigation you
may choose to inflict.”
“No castigation I assure you, Ronayne, but wholesome advice from one,
who, recollect, is nearly old enough to be your mother. However, you
shall hear and then decide for yourself.”
“Although,” she pursued, after a short pause, “we women are supposed to
know nothing of those matters, it would be difficult, in a small place
like this, to be ignorant of what is going on. Hence it is that I have
long since remarked, with pain and sorrow, the little animosity which
exists between Headley and yourself--(I will not introduce Mr. Elmsley's
name, because what I have to say has no immediate reference to him), and
the almost daily widening breach. Now, Ronayne, I would appeal to your
reason. Place yourself for a moment in my husband's position. Consider
his years, nearly double your own--his great responsibility and the
peculiar school of discipline in which he has been brought up. Place
yourself, I repeat, in his position, and decide what would be your
sentiments if, in the conscientious discharge of your duty, you thought
yourself thwarted by those very men--much your juniors both in years and
military experience--on whose co-operation you had every fair reason to
rely.”
“You have, my dear Mrs. Headley, put the case forcibly yet simply.”
returned the ensign, who had listened with marked deference to the whole
of her remonstrance. “In such a case I should feel no slight annoyance,
but why imagine that I have sought to thwart Captain Headley?”
“Was it not apparently to thwart him--bear in mind I speak to you
dispassionately and as a friend--to refuse in the presence of the whole
garrison this morning to account for your absence of last night, which
might have been easily explained, had you been so disposed?”
“But, my dear Mrs. Headley, why is it persisted in, that I was
absent--and even if such were the case, might not I have had a good
reason for refusing to commit myself by the avowal.”
“Admitting this, could you have maintained your position without, in a
measure, setting his authority at defiance--thus encouraging the men to
do the same. Was this right, I ask? Was this officer-like?”
“Well, no, perhaps not. I blush not to make the admission to YOU, for
indeed, there is no resisting so bewitching a master in petticoats. Yet,
what would you have me do?”
“Ah, now, I begin to entertain some hope of you,” she replied, in a
gayer tone, placing her hand at the same time familiarly on his shoulder
and looking approvingly in his face. “Ronayne, you are engaged--perhaps
will shortly become the husband of the noble girl, whom I love even as
though she were my own daughter--yes,” she repeated energetically, as
she felt his grateful pressure of her hand, “even as though she were
my own daughter--nay, you know I like yourself for your open, although
rather too impetuous character. Do you then think that feeling this it
can be any other than a source of deep pain and vexation to me, to see
those in whom I feel so much interest, alienated from each other--in
some degree even mutually hating and hated?”
“Yet, what would you have me to do, my dear Mrs. Headley? Some
concession I suppose, must be made. Any thing in honor and in reason
will I do for your sake,” returned the young officer, deeply touched by
her manner and language.
“This I wish you to do, Ronayne. Take the first favorable opportunity,
either while on guard to-day, or when relieved to-morrow, to see Headley
privately, and by such language as you well know how to use, remove
the unfavorable impression you have left on his mind--depend upon
it, although extremely cold and inflexible when apparently braved, my
husband has a warm and generous--aye, a noble heart, and will freely
grant what is frankly solicited. Bear in mind, moreover, Ronayne, that
it is no humiliation to admit error when conscious of having committed
it; and if this be so in the social relations of life, how much less
derogatory is it in a military sense.”
“Say no more, dearest Mrs. Headley, since it is your wish, I will go, no
matter what the reception I encounter; and any further rebuke I may meet
with, I will cheerfully endure for your sake.”
“Now then, Ronayne, you are once more yourself, the generous,
high-minded boy, in whom I delighted, even as a mother would delight
in her son, when you first arrived here about three years ago. Yet,
recollect that not only _I_ shall be gratified and benefitted by this,
but YOU and YOURS. Let but this unhappy discord terminate, and we shall
then be what soldiers and those connected with them, ought ever to
be--one undivided family. And now, for the present, farewell.”
“God bless you!” fervently exclaimed the ensign, as he took his leave
of the graceful and noble wife of the commanding officer, with emotions
that fully testified the effect produced upon him by her generous
confidence and candor.
From the frequent reference made by Mrs. Headley to her own riper years,
one might have been induced to consider her rather in the decline of
life; but such was not the case. Her splendid and matronly figure might
indeed have impressed the superficial observer with the belief that she
had numbered more than forty summers, but the unchained and luxuriant
hair--the white, even and perfect teeth--the rich, full lip, and
unwrinkled brow, and smooth and brilliant cheek, would not have
permitted the woman most jealous of her charms, could such have been
found, to pronounce her more than six-and-thirty, which was, indeed, her
age. It was a source of gratification to her to consider and represent
herself as older than she really was; and if she had any peculiarity--a
weakness it could not be called--it was that of loving to look upon
those younger persons who claimed a place in her friendship and esteem,
as though she actually stood in the maternal relation to them. This
may have, in some degree, arisen from the fact of her having ever been
childless herself.
As Ronayne approached Elmsley's house on his return, a remarkably
handsome and noble-looking Indian--quite a youth--was leaning against
the frame of the door, and according to the simple habit of his race,
indulging his curiosity by looking at, and admiring all that he beheld
within. Elmsley himself had gone out, but Von Vottenberg, still seated
at the breakfast-table, was discussing, with its remains, the now nearly
finished claret, while Mrs. Elmsley and Maria Heywood were seated on
the sofa opposite to the door, passing their whispered remarks on the
Indian, whose softened dark glances occasionally fell with intense
admiration on the former, when he fancied the act unseen, but as
instantly were withdrawn, when he perceived that it was observed.
Mrs. Elmsley was endeavoring to dissipate the dejection of her friend
by rallying her, as the young officer came to the door, on the evidently
new conquest she had made. The Indian turned to look at the intruder
upon his pleasant musings, when a “wah!” expressive of deep satisfaction
escaped him, and at the same moment, Ronayne grasped, and cordially
shook his hand.
“Ha! there is his formidable rival, and seemingly his friend,” whispered
Mrs. Elmsley, in the ear of Maria--“handsome fellows, both of them, so
much so, that were I single, like you, I should have some difficulty in
choosing between them.”
As she uttered these words, a sharp and unaccountable pang, sudden and
fleeting as electricity, shot through the frame of her friend. The blood
suddenly receded from her cheek, and then rapidly returning, suffused it
with a burning heat.
“What is the matter, my love? Are you ill, you looked so pale just now?”
tenderly inquired Mrs. Elmsley.
“I cannot account for what I experienced. It was a feeling different
from any I had ever known before--a strange, wild, and inexplicable
dread of I know not what. But it has passed away. Take no notice of it,
dear, before Ronayne.”
“Mrs. Elmsley,” said the latter, almost using force to induce the
modest-looking young Indian to enter the room, “will you allow me first
to introduce my friend Waunangee to you, and then to give him a glass
of claret? Forgive the liberty I take, but I confess a good deal of
obligation to him, and would fain do the civil in return.”
“Indeed! what a set speech for a glass of wine. Give it to him by all
means, if it is only for his beautiful eyes--that is to say, if the
doctor has left any--or stay, I will get another bottle.”
“By no means,” returned the young officer, “this unconscionable man has
just left about half a tumbler foil, and I do not intend he shall have
more. Waunangee,” he pursued, after filling and presenting him with the
glass, “that is the lady of the house,” pointing to Mrs. Elmsley, “you
must drink to her health.”
“And dis you handsome squaw,” remarked the Indian, a moment or two after
having tossed off the wine, which quickly circulated through his veins.
“Dis you wife!” he repeated, throwing his expressive eyes upon Miss
Heywood, while a rich glow lighted up his dark, but finely formed
features.
“Hush!” said Ronayne, making a sign to intimate that he was not to
indulge in such observations.
But even the small quantity of wine he had taken was acting potently on
the fast animating Indian. “Dis no you squaw--dis Waunangee squaw,” he
said, with strong excitement of manner. “Waunangee, see him beautiful,
Waunangee got warm heart--love him very much!”
“Tolerably well for a modest youth!” exclaimed the laughing Mrs.
Elmsley. “Who would have thought that one with those soft black eyes,
more fitted for a woman than a man, would hazard so glowing a speech,
after an acquaintance of barely five minutes?”
“Who says Chicago doesn't abound in adventure?” sneered Von Vottenberg,
as he arose and passed into the apartment of his patient. “I shall
certainly write a book about this when I get back into the civilized
world, and entitle it 'The Loves of the Handsome Waunangee, and the
Beautiful American.'”
“You had better write 'The Loves of the Fat Von Vottenberg, and his
Mistress, Whisky Punch,'” remarked Ronayne, peevishly, for in spite of
himself, he felt annoyed at an observation, which he thought delicacy
might have spared. “Come, Waunangee, my good friend, we must go.”
But the young Indian was not so easily led. “Waunangee have him first
dis nice squaw,” he said, with all that show of dogged obstinacy which
so usually distinguishes his race, when under the influence of liquor,
and bent upon the attainment of a particular object.
“Hear me, Waunangee,” replied the other, placing his hand upon
his shoulder, and now, that Mrs. Elmsley only was present with his
affianced, feeling less scruple in explaining to the young savage--“that
is my squaw--my wife.”
“Why you no tell him so?” asked the youth, gravely, and with an air of
reproach, while, at the same time, he fixed his soft and melancholy eyes
upon Miss Heywood. “Waunangee love officer's squaw--but Waunangee good
heart. Shake him hand, my friend,” he continued, walking up to her, and
tendering his own, while, singular as it seemed to all, a tear dimmed
his eye, and stole down his cheek. “'Spose no Waunangee wife--you
Waunangee's friend?”
The generous but trembling girl, shook cordially the hand that rested
in her own, and assured the youth, in a way easily intelligible to
him, that, as the friend of her husband, and she blushed deeply, as the
moment afterwards she became sensible she had used a word, she could not
but feel to be premature, she would always regard him with friendship
and esteem.
“What a nice little scene we might get up out of this morning's
adventure,” said the ever gay Mrs. Elmsley, as Waunangee, after having
shaken hands with herself, departed with Ronayne. “Really, my dear,
he is a fine looking, and certainly a warm-hearted fellow, that
Wau--Wan--what's his name, Maria?”
“Waunangee. I know not how it is, Margaret, or why--I should attach so
much importance to the thing, but if ever those glimpses of the future,
called presentiments, had foundation in truth, that young Indian is
destined to exercise some sort of influence over my fate.”
“You do not mean that he is to supplant Ronayne, I hope,” returned her
friend, trying to laugh her oat of the serious mood, in which she seemed
so much inclined to indulge.
“How can you speak so, Margaret? No, my presentiment is of a different
character. But it is very foolish and silly to allow the feeling to
weigh with me. I will try to think more rationally. Say nothing of this,
however, and least of all to Ronayne.”
“Not a word, dearest. Good bye for the present. I must look after the
dinner. You know who dines with us.”
A look expressive of the deep sense she entertained of the consideration
of her friend, was the only commentary of Miss Heywood, as she passed
into her mother's apartment.