So under the star-light he lay down to sleep on a cold bank beside the
gate, determining to enter early in the morning. It was long before he
slept, but at last weary nature demanded her privilege with importunity,
and gentle sleep floated over him like a dark dewy cloud, and the sun
was high in heaven before he woke.
It was about half-past nine in the morning, and Mrs. Trevor, with Fanny,
was starting to visit some of her poor neighbors, an occupation full of
holy pleasure to her kind heart, and in which she had found more than
usual consolation during the heavy trials which she had recently
suffered; for she had loved Eric and Vernon as a mother does her own
children, and now Vernon, the little cherished jewel of her heart, was
dead--Vernon was dead, and Eric, she feared, not dead but worse than
dead, guilty, stained, dishonored. Often had she thought to herself, in
deep anguish of heart, "Our darling little Vernon dead--and Eric fallen
and ruined!"
"Look at that poor fellow asleep on the grass," said Fanny, pointing to
a sailor boy, who lay coiled up on the bank beside the gate.
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