from affection. And so the gray dawn found her still wakeful, and she rose, bathed her cheeks in cold fresh water, and drew them forth with a glow like Hebe's. Dressing herself with the quiet activity which characterized all her movements, she then opened the casement and inhaled the air. All was still in the narrow lane, the shops yet unclosed. But on the still trees behind the shops, the birds were beginning to stir and chirp. Chanticleer, from some neighboring yard, rung out his brisk reveillée, Pleasant English summer dawn in the pleasant English country village. She stretched her graceful neck far from the casement, trying to catch a glimpse of the blue river. She had seen its majestic flow on the day they had arrived at the fair, and longed to gain its banks; then her servitude to the stage forbade her. Now she was to be free! Oh, joy! Now she might have her careless hours of holiday; and, forgetful of Waife's warning that their vocation must be plied in towns, she let her fancy run riot amidst visions of green fields and laughing waters, and in fond delusion gathered the daisies and butterflies. Changeling transferred into that lowest world of Art from the cradle of simple Nature, her human child's heart yearned for the human child-like delights. All children love the country, the flowers, the sward, the birds, the butterflies, or, if some do not, despair, oh, Philanthropy, of their after-lives!
She closed the window, smiling to herself, stole through the adjoining door-way, and saw that her grandfather was still asleep. Then she busied herself in putting the little sitting-room to rights, reset the table for the morning meal, watered the stocks, and, finally, took up the crystal and looked into it with awe, wondering why the Cobbler could see so much, and she only the distorted reflection of her own face. So interested, however, for once, did she become in the inspection of this mystic globe that she did not notice the dawn pass into broad daylight, nor hear a voice at the door below—nor, in short, take into cognition the external world, till a heavy tread shook the floor, and then, starting, she beheld the Remorseless Baron, with a face black enough to have darkened the crystal of Dr. Dee himself.
"Ho, ho!" said Mr. Rugge, in hissing accents, which had often thrilled the threepenny gallery with anticipative horror. "Rebellious, eh?—won't come? Where's your grandfather, baggage?"
Sophy let fall the crystal—a mercy it was not broken—and gazed vacantly on the Baron.
"Your vile scamp of a grandfather?"
