The New Magdalen

The minutes passed. The violence of her agitation began to tell

physically on her weakened frame.

She found herself crying silently without knowing why. A weight was

on her head, a weariness was in all her limbs. She sank lower on the

cushions--her eyes closed--the monotonous ticking of the clock on the

mantelpiece grew drowsily fainter and fainter on her ear. Little by

little she dropped into slumber--slumber so light that she started when

a morsel of coal fell into the grate, or when the birds chirped and

twittered in their aviary in the winter-garden.

Lady Janet and Horace came in. She was faintly conscious of persons in

the room. After an interval she opened her eyes, and half rose to speak

to them. The room was empty again. They had stolen out softly and left

her to repose. Her eyes closed once more. She dropped back into slumber,

and from slumber, in the favoring warmth and quiet of the place, into

deep and dreamless sleep.