nude oil painting

Mrs. Fairfax's voice, and Leah's, and the cook's- that is, John's
wife- and even John's own gruff tones. There were exclamations of
'What a mercy master was not burnt in his bed!' 'It is always
dangerous to keep a candle lit at night.' 'How providential that he
had presence of mind to think of the water-jug!' 'I wonder he waked
nobody!' 'It is to be hoped he will not take cold with sleeping on the
library sofa,' etc.
To much confabulation succeeded a sound of scrubbing and setting to
rights; and when I passed the room, in going downstairs to dinner, I
saw through the open door that all was again restored to complete
order; only the bed was stripped of its hangings. Leah stood up in the
window-seat, rubbing the panes of glass dimmed with smoke. I was about
to address her, for I wished to know what account had been given of
the affair: but, on advancing, I saw a second person in the chamber- a
woman sitting on a chair by the bedside, and sewing rings to new
curtains. That woman was no other than Grace Poole.
There she sat, staid and taciturn-looking, as usual, in her brown