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Updated: May 29, 2025
Then she stole away up-stairs to her little dimity-hung chamber, opening out of her parents' and facing towards the sun, and all twinkling and swaying with little white tassels on curtains and covers and counterpane, in the draught, as she opened the door.
Rand had risen at dawn, and his day had been a battlefield, but before he lay down in the dimity-hung, four-post bed he sat long at the window of his small, white, quiet room. The moon shone brightly; the air was soft and sweet. In the distance a lamb bleated, then all was still again. The young man rested his chin on his hand, and studied the highest stars. That day a milestone had been passed.
Glory McWhirk was waiting upstairs, in Faith's pretty, white, dimity-hung chamber. These two girls, of such utterly different birth and training, were drawing daily toward each other across the gulf of social circumstance that separated them.
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