She had dreamed her dream, and on awaking must be content to take up
the day's duties. Just in the same way, when she was a child at Mrs.
Peckover's, did not sleep often bring a vision of happiness, of
freedom from bitter tasks, and had she not to wake in the miserable
mornings, trembling lest she had lain too long? Her condition was
greatly better than then, so much better that it seemed wicked folly
to lament because one joy was not granted her.--Why, in the
meantime she had forgotten all about Pennyloaf. That visit must be
paid the first thing this morning.
CHAPTER XXXV
THE TREASURY UNLOCKED
A Sunday morning. In their parlour in Burton Crescent, Mr. and Mrs.
Joseph Snowdon were breakfasting. The sound of church bells--most
depressing of all sounds that mingle in the voice of London--
intimated that it was nearly eleven o'clock, but neither of our
friends had in view the attendance of public worship. Blended odours
of bacon and kippered herrings filled the room--indeed, the house,
for several breakfasts were in progress under the same roof. For a
wonder, the morning was fine, even sunny; a yellow patch glimmered
on the worn carpet, and the grime of the window-panes was visible
against an unfamiliar sky.
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