But the crowding
experiences of five hours had exhausted the girl. Sleep fell upon her as
her head nestled into a downy pillow, and she lay motionless as a marble
figure on a tomb until a sound of knocking forced itself into her dreams.
She waked with a start. The curtains were drawn across the window, but
she could see that it was daylight. A streak of sunshine thrust a golden
wedge between the draperies, and seemed a good omen: for the sun had
hidden from London through many wintry weeks.
The knocking was real, not part of a dream. It was at her door, and
jumping out of bed she could hardly believe a clock on the mantelpiece
which said half-past ten.
"Who is it?" she asked, timidly, fearing that the Countess de Santiago's
voice might answer; but a man replied: "A note from a gentleman
downstairs, please, and he's waiting an answer."
Annesley opened the door a crack, and took in a letter. The new master of
her destiny had written:
Hurrah, my darling, our affairs march! I have been arranging about the
licence, _et cetera_, and I believe that you and I can join forces for
the rest of our lives to-morrow--blessed day!
How soon can you come down and talk over plans? I've a hundred to
propose.
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