I suppose it comes natural to people to feel sleepy at night; for I did
not mention it before, but I had terribly hard work to keep awake on
that night when I had such a horrible adventure, while soon after
telling that unfeeling Clara all about it I fell asleep, and they had
such a task to wake me when the bell rang. But I'm sure any one might
have pitied my feelings upon that terrible morning. When I was
thoroughly awake it was just as if there was a weight upon my mind, and
for some time I could not make out what was the matter.
Then came, with a rush, the recollection of my adventure, so that I
first of all turned crimson with shame, and then as white as a dreadful
marble statue. For somehow things do look so very different of a night
to what they do by broad daylight, and I do believe that, after all, one
of the greatest of missionary efforts would be a more general diffusion
of gas and electric lights; for I'm sure if people are all made like me,
we should not have been half so wicked if we had two suns instead of a
sun and a moon, and that last half her time making no shine at all. I
believe it's night that makes most people wicked; for fancy me going to
meet Achille under the elms in broad daylight! Why, the idea is
preposterous!
But oh! how bad, and wicked, and ashamed, and repentant, and
conscience-smitten I did feel. It was dreadful only to think of it, for
months after. It seemed so horrible to me, how that I had rested my
head against the buttons of that shockingly low wretch of a policeman's
coat and not known the difference; while what Achille would have thought
had he but known, I could not--nay I dare not--think.
Then there was that Clara looking at me with such a dreadful mocking
smile, that I felt as if I could have turned her into stone--for she was
oozing all over with triumph; and yet all the time I was so angry with
myself, for I knew that I was completely in her power, as well as in
that of the constable--a low wretch!--who might say anything, and
perhaps tell the servants. And, by the way, who was Ann, that he had
asked me about?
"Why," I exclaimed, trembling, "it must be Sarah Ann, the housemaid; and
I shall never dare to look her in the face again. Oh, Laura Bozerne," I
said, "how you have lowered yourself!"