CHAPTER XXIV.
VASHTI.
To wonder sadly, did I say? No: a new influence began to act upon my life, and sadness, for a certain space, was held at bay. Conceive a dell, deep-hollowed in forest secresy; it lies in dimness and mist: its turf is dank, its herbage pale and humid. A storm or an axe makes a wide gap amongst the oak-trees; the breeze sweeps in; the sun looks down; the sad, cold dell, becomes a deep cup of lustre; high summer pours her blue glory and her golden light out of that beauteous sky, which till now the starved hollow never saw.
A new creed became mine—a belief in happiness. It was three weeks since the adventure of the garret, and I possessed in that case, box, drawer up stairs, casketed with that first letter, four companions like to it, traced by the same firm pen,
