FLIGHT.
THE next day my father took Andrew and myself once more into the
vault—this time by the secret passage which led from the pastor's room
in the tower. We had a lantern with us, which we lighted as soon as we
had shut ourselves in, for the lower passage and the staircase were
quite dark.
"I made a discovery in this place some years since, which I think may
be of great service to us, if worse comes to worst," said my father.
"There used to be a legend to the effect that a great cavern existed
under this vault which had an outlet to the sea-shore, and to which
there was formerly an entrance from this place. It was said that this
entrance had been built up on account of some dreadful crime committed
in the cavern. However that may be, in trying when a young man, to
satisfy my curiosity upon the subject, I found an underground passage
leading from hence to the little ruined tower in the orchard, which you
were teaching Vevette to sketch the other day."
"How curious!" said Andrew. "What could it have been used for?"
"Probably for a sally-port in the days when the house was fortified.
Such underground ways are not uncommon in old buildings. It may serve
us a good turn upon a pinch; but you must help me to open it, and you,
Vevette, must hold the light. I built it up myself with the hewn stones
which seem to have been left here from ancient times, perhaps from the
time that the entrance was closed to the cavern below. No one knows the
secret but old Sablot, who died the other day, and who assisted me in
the work. So as there is no one else about the place whom I dare trust,
I must even ask you, my fair son, to turn laborer for once, and help me
with these same stones."
"I want no better fun," said Andrew, pulling off his coat at once. "I
have been suffering for some hard work ever since I came here."
"Is that the reason you go out so often with Pierre Le Febre in his new
boat?" I asked.
For my father, seeing that Pierre was really making a great struggle to
do well, had given him a fine new fishing-boat, to be paid for in very
small instalments, as he could afford, and the poor fellow and his wife
were very grateful.
"Partly for that reason, and partly because I am interested in the man
himself," answered Andrew. "He is one who, under good teaching, would
have made a brave seaman. If I read him aright, he is one of those
people who need grand motives—more than the mere living and working
from day to day, and I have been trying in my stupid way to set before
him something of the sort. He was as much astonished when I told him
that God was his Father, and was pleased when he did well and grieved
when he did ill, as if he had been brought up among the heathen I have
seen in the Indian seas. But I beg your pardon, sir; I did not mean to
preach."
And Andrew caught himself up and blushed like a girl, for, like other
young men, he was dreadfully ashamed of having any one think he was
trying to be good.
"I do not see why you should beg my pardon, dear son," said my father,
with a smile—that sweet, sudden smile which does so light up a usually
grave face, and which I see again sometimes on my sober little Armand.
"Surely it is a blessed work, and one which God will own. But I must
warn you that it is not without danger. You may be accused proselyting,
which is one of our deadliest sins in the eyes of our enemies."
"Well," said Andrew, with a great sigh, "I think I shall appreciate it,
if I reach a land where a man may open his mouth. Why should you delay
any longer? Why not fly to-night?"
"Because my arrangements are not yet complete," said my father.
"If you wait till everything is ready, you will never go at all," said
Andrew.
"That is true; but there are certain things yet to be arranged
concerning those who stay behind. I must see our friends at Avranches,
and leave with them some means of raising funds to help themselves
withal. To-morrow I shall go thither, and the day after I hope to
go—but why should I say hope?" he murmured, in the sad voice I knew so
well. "Weep not for the dead, neither bemoan him, but weep, son, for
him that goeth away, for he shall return no more, nor see his native
country."
"If my native country was such a step-dame as this, I don't think I
should bemoan it very much," muttered Andrew between his teeth.
"Don't the people who have gone away and settled in America long to see
England again?" I asked.
"No, I don't believe they do," he said. "They are as self-satisfied as
any people I ever saw. And yet I don't know," he added. "The names they
give their children are very touching, especially those on the stones
in their burying-ground."
"What names?" I asked.
"Such names as 'Hopestill,' 'Waitstill,' 'Submit,' 'Resignation,' and
the like. I read one epitaph over a little baby girl which runs thus:
"'Submit submitted to her Heavenly King,
Being a flower of that Eternal Spring!
Near three years old, she died, in Heaven to wait;
The year was sixteen hundred forty-eight.'
"Not the best of poetry, you will say, but very affecting to my mind."
"Come, come, son," said my father; "we did not come into this mouldy
old hole to repeat verses. Let us set to work."
Andrew blushed again, and at once bent himself to the task of removing
the heavy stones. This was hard work, especially as it was necessary to
make as little noise about it as possible. But it was accomplished at
last, and the arched entrance of the passage made practicable. More my
father did not care to do.
"Now for the other end," said my father. "Vevette, are you afraid?"
"No indeed!" said I indignantly.
"Vevette is a real Corbet woman!" said Andrew. "She is afraid of
nothing."
"Except of being laughed at," returned my father. "Come, then, give me
the light. I will go first, and do you young ones follow, carefully,
and looking to your steps."
I was about to speak, but my father put his finger upon his lip.
"We will not talk," whispered he; "we are now outside the bounds of the
vault, and may be overheard."
Accordingly we proceeded in silence for some hundred yards, sometimes
able to walk upright, sometimes bending almost double, as the walls and
roof contracted, till our further passage was barred by a heap of large
stones. These, however, being loosely piled, were easily removed, and
we found ourselves in a cellar-like vault, in which were piled up old
cider-casks. (All such places in that part of Normandy always are full
of useless old casks, though what they are kept for I cannot say.)
From this vault a ruined but passable staircase led up to the level of
the ground. I shall never forget how beautiful everything looked to me
as we emerged from the deeps of the earth and saw the whole landscape
bathed in the mild autumnal sunshine. My heart bounded for a moment and
then sank as in a deep of cold, bitter waves, when I thought how soon
I must leave all this beauty, never, never to see it again. English
people sometimes fancy that French people do not care for their homes
because they have no one word which answers to the English one. It
is just one of those pieces of insular pride and—I was going to say
stupidity—which always enrage me, though I am half an English woman by
birth and wholly one by adoption.
"Ah, fair France!" said my father mournfully. "Thou that killest the
prophets and stonest them that are sent unto thee. Surely the day will
come when thou shalt desire to see one of the days of the Son of Man,
and shall not see it. Thou hast condemned and killed the just, and he
doth not resist thee!"
"And that is where the just is not of my mind," muttered Andrew between
his teeth. "If he were, he would have one fight for it."
My father did not hear, but I did, and gave Andrew a look, partly of
approbation, partly of warning. I felt as he did. If we could only have
fought for our lives, I should not have minded it so much.
We returned by the fields, after my father and Andrew had shut up the
entrance to the passage with the loose stones in such a manner that
they could easily be removed. As to the other end, we were not afraid
to leave it open, since not one of our farm or house servants would
have descended into the vault for any consideration. We found my mother
anxiously expecting us.
"You are gone a long time," said she. "Here is a strange visitor—no
less than a Capuchin friar—who says he used to know you, and desires
much to see you."
"A friar!" said my father, turning pale. "What can he want? Where is
he?"
"Eating and drinking in the dining-room at this moment, if he is not
asleep in his chair," answered my mother. "I could do no less than
offer him hospitality, especially as he asked no impertinent questions,
and had nothing to say about religious matters. He seems a harmless old
soul enough."
"Many of them are, I believe, while others are wolves in sheep's
clothing," said my father; "but I shall soon see to which class our
friend belongs."
My father went to the dining-room, where he shut himself in with his
guest and remained a long time, apparently in earnest conversation.
Finally, however, we saw him accompany the friar to the gate and take a
friendly leave of him.
"Well, what had your ghostly father to say?" asked my mother when my
father returned to us.
"Nothing more than I knew already," replied my father. "Did you not
know him? It was my old playmate and companion in arms, Louis de
Reviere."
"I thought there was something familiar in his face and voice," said my
mother. "But what brought him here, and in that dress?"
"He has taken the tonsure, and is now a Franciscan," answered my
father. "He had always rather a turn for a religious life, as they call
it. As to his errand, he came ostensibly to convert me—really to warn
us of danger, and beg us to fly. He says that a company of dragoons
will be at Avranches next week. Ah, my poor people!"
"Do not give way, my Armand," said my mother tenderly. "But now, tell
us clearly, what is your plan?"
"To set forth by night and travel to Honfleur by the most retired
roads, disguised in the peasant dresses I bade you prepare. You and
Vevette will ride the donkeys. Andrew and myself will walk beside you.
We will also have another beast laden with poor Grace's dried fruits
and confections which we are carrying to Honfleur to sell. Once there
we shall find English ships, and, I trust, have no difficulty in making
our way. Simon Sablot is in the secret, and will have the animals all
ready."
"And when shall we set out?" I asked anxiously.
"To-morrow night, my little one. I must go once more to Avranches to
bestow in safety the money belonging to our consistory, which thou
knowest is in my hands."
"Could not Simon take the money to Avranches?" asked my mother.
"And thus run the risk while I was escaping? Nay, my Margaret, that is
not spoken like thyself. But, in truth, my risk would be much less than
his. Thou knowest I have made many errands thither of late, concerning
the houses which are being repaired in the market-place. No one will
think it at all strange."
My mother shook her head, but both she and I knew that, once my
father's mind was made up on a point of duty, there was no more to be
said.
The day passed quietly and sadly enough, for we all felt it was
probably the last day we should spend in the dear old house. Our
preparations were all completed, even to filling the panniers of the
spare donkey with the dried fruits and other matters which were to form
our ostensible errand to Honfleur. As my father said, he had laid by
a considerable amount of wealth in diamonds and other jewels, which,
being of small bulk, could be easily concealed about our persons. We
had also about three hundred Louis in gold, which was divided between
us. We dared take but very few clothes, and as for books or any
treasures of that sort, they were of course quite out of the question.
I think none of us slept that night. I am sure I did not. It seemed to
me as if I could not endure to lose sight for a moment of the things
and places I was so soon to leave forever. At daylight my father called
us all together, and for the last time we joined in prayer about that
family altar which was so soon to be laid in ruins, never to be builded
in that place again.
But why should I say so? Never is a long day. Perhaps some time, in the
councils of heaven, that altar may be once more erected.
We took our breakfast together very silently, and then my father kissed
us all and mounted his horse to go to Avranches, taking Andrew with
him. My mother called all the servants and paid them their wages, with
a little present into the bargain. I believe the good souls had an idea
of what was going to happen, though none of them said a word. It was
a weary day, for we had done everything we could think of by way of
precaution, and the time hung heavy on our hands. My father was to have
returned by three o'clock, but the hour struck and he did not come.
Alas, never again!
I had gone down to the gate for the tenth time to look for them, when,
as I opened the little wicket, I met Pierre Le Febre face to face.
"Thank the holy archangel," said he breathlessly. "I was wondering how
I should get speech of you, mademoiselle. But let me come in, for I
have somewhat to say."
I let him into the courtyard, and called my mother to hear Pierre's
tale.
"I was standing by the great gate of the hospital, as they call it,"
said he. "I had sold my fish to the Sisters, and was waiting for my
money when the wicket suddenly opened and Lucille Sablot looked out.
Ah, madame, how changed! But, as I said, she looked out, and, seeing no
one, she put this little packet into any hand."
"'Quick, Pierre, if ever you cared for me,' said she. 'This for
Mamselle Vevette, and make haste. Life and death are in thy steps. Tell
Vevette I dared not write, but she will know what this means by the
English name.' Then she drew in her head, and I heard some one scolding
her within for looking out of bounds."
Breathlessly I opened the paper. There was nothing in it but a grosse
mouche, what in English we call a bluebottle.
"A fly," said I. "Fly! That is what it means, maman. Lucille has sent
us a warning. She knows of some danger that threatens us immediately.
What shall we do?"
"Oh, if your father were but here!" said my mother, wringing her hands
convulsively.
"There he comes," said I, and at that moment appeared, not my father,
but Andrew, riding across the fields at break-neck speed, his horse
covered with foam. He sprang to the ground, flinging his reins loose
anyhow.
"Armand! My husband!" said my mother. "Where is he?"
"To the tower first, aunt, then I will tell you all. Pierre, if ever he
or I did you a good turn, do me one now!" said Andrew sharply. "I do
not ask you to risk yourself, but let me have your boat. The wind is
fair. We must run for Jersey as soon as it is a little later. Go, and
get it ready."
"My boat does not go without me, monsieur," said Pierre. "I can bring
it back, and if I am out two or three days I am kept by the wind. You
can never manage it alone; you do not know the channels, and I do."
"As you will; but have it ready by ten this night. It will be very
dark, but so much the better. Run, now. Come, aunt, for Heaven's sake,
for your child's sake."
For maman stood like a marble statue.
"I will not move till you tell me news of Armand," said she.
"He is with God," answered Andrew, with a convulsed face. "His last
words were, 'Tell Margaret to escape, for my sake, and the child's. We
shall meet again.'"
"True, we shall meet again. It is but a short parting," said my mother
musingly.
Then, as Andrew stamped his foot with impatience, she seemed to rouse
herself.
"I am ready, my dear son. What shall we do?"
"Go, you and Vevette, and put on your peasant dresses, and secure the
money and jewels, while I warn the servants. I want them to find an
empty nest. Stay in your room till I come."
We obeyed at once. My mother was pale as ashes, but calm, and even
cheerful. As to myself. I believe I retained only one rational thought
at that moment—to do as I was bid. We changed our dresses and made
our other arrangements with the speed of thought, but we had hardly
finished before the noise of voices and clapping of doors told that the
alarm had been given. In another moment Andrew appeared.
"I have told them that the mob are coming, and that their ladies have
already escaped. I have bid them take to the woods for the night. Come,
now! Leave everything in all the confusion possible to look like a
hasty flight. It will all the better throw them off the scent."
We entered the secret passage, and closing it securely after us we
sought the upper floor of the tower—not, however, the uppermost one,
but the second.
"Do you know the way, Andrew?" I asked. "My father said these floors
were not safe."
"They are safe enough for us, but our enemies will not find them very
safe," was Andrew's response. "Step lightly, and follow me exactly."
We went around the side of the room to a cupboard with shelves, masking
a door so entirely that no one would have known it was there. This door
opened into a second and much smaller room, which again opened upon the
staircase up which I had led the preacher.
"We can take breath now," said he. "We need not seek the vaults till we
hear them approaching, and not then unless they come into this tower."
"They will come," said I. "Remember the staircase from the gallery."
"Let them," was Andrew's grim reply. "There are a few secrets about
this place which even you do not know, Vevette."
As he spoke he stooped down, drew out two large iron bolts and laid
them on the floor.
"The trap is set and baited," said he; "now let the rats walk in
whenever they please."
"But how—how was it," I asked in a whisper, for my mother never said a
word. The fact that my father was dead seemed enough for her.
"We had hardly reached Avranches when we heard the uproar in the
market-place," returned Andrew. "At first we did not think of the
cause, but as soon as we caught sight of the place we saw what was
going on. They were pulling down the houses of the Protestants, and
dragging out the women and the little children."
Andrew shuddered and covered his face. "I saw one man in a friar's gown
take two little baby girls in his arms and try to carry them out of
the press, but they were torn from him. Then they caught sight of us,
and one cried out, 'There is the arch heretic. There is the man who
shelters the preachers.' And a volley of stones flew about our ears. We
turned to fly, as there was clearly nothing else to be done, but a man
named Michaud—I don't know whether you know him—"
"My father saved him from the galleys," said I.
"Well, he raised his arquebus and deliberately fired at my uncle,
wounding him in the breast. He did not fall nor lose his presence of
mind, and by lanes and by-ways we gained the wood. Then he sank to the
ground, and I saw that he was dying.
"'Lose no time with me,' said he faintly. 'Hasten home at once. Did we
not hear them cry, "To the tower!" Remember the secret passage. Hide as
long as you can, if you cannot get away. Go not by the road, but across
the heath. Why do you stay?'
"But I did not leave him till he had breathed his last. Then I drew his
body aside into the bushes, and hastened hither."
"And do you think they will come?" I asked, as soon as I could speak.
"I most surely do," he answered. "The hope of plunder would bring the
rascals, of whom there are abundance. The priest sets on the zealots
and others join because they are afraid of being suspected of favoring
the cause."
We sat in silence for what seemed a very long time, till the great
clock struck eight. At that very moment we heard a shout and the
trampling of many feet, while a strong glare shone through the little
grated casement of the room.
"There they are," said Andrew, stepping to the window. I followed him
and looked out. On they came, a mob of ruffians and abandoned women,
with many, too, of whom I should have hoped better things. Heading the
press was one of the curés of Avranches, a man whose openly dissolute
life was a scandal to his own people. There were also two or three
friars, among them the one who had visited us the day before.
"Ah, the traitor!" said I. "My father's old companion in arms, and but
yesterday eating his bread."
"I believe you do him injustice," said my mother, in as calm a tone as
if she were speaking of the most ordinary matter. "He has come in the
hope of rendering us some service. Poor, miserable, deluded people!"
"I would I had some charges of grapeshot for these poor people," said
Andrew. "They would go farther to dispel their illusions than a deal
of reasoning. Anything but hiding like rats in a hole. But we have no
choice. Not a word or sound, for your lives. But what is here?"
It was something which in my excited state almost sent are off into a
hysterical laugh—namely, my great, long-haired, white cat Blanchon,
which had followed us into the tower, and now mounted upon the
window-seat was growling savagely at the intruders. He was an odd
creature, very fond of his friends, but formidable to his enemies, and
he had this peculiarity, that he never mewed. A strange yell, which
sounded like that of a human being in the wildest rage, when he flew
upon his enemies, and a loud purr were all the noises he ever made.
"Let him be. He will do no harm," said I. "He never makes any noise.
What shall we do now?" as the mob made their onslaught on the gates
with a savage yell which made me shudder.
"Keep quiet," was the reply. "We are safe enough unless they set fire
to the tower."
In another moment the gate yielded, and the people poured in. Before
one could speak they were all over the house, calling to each other and
venting their rage at finding no one by breaking and destroying all
before them.
"To the old tower, comrades!" finally cried a voice. "There is the
hiding-place."
I suppose numbers gave the people courage, for I am certain not one of
them would have dared invade the domain of the white chevalier alone.
We heard the rush up the stairs and then the battering down of the
door. Then there was a short pause.
"Come on," cried the same voice, which I now recognized as that of
Michaud, our old gamekeeper, whom my father had saved only to be
murdered by him. "Come on. Who cares for ghost or devil?"
There was a rush into the room, then a cry from those nearest the door.
"Take care! The floor!"
But it was too late. The loosened boards gave way, and down went a
dozen men, Michaud among them, through a yawning gulf clear to the
ground floor.
"Back! Back! The tower is falling!" was the cry, while the shrieks of
the men below added to the confusion. The tower was at once deserted,
and we presently heard sounds which told us that the fallen men were
being rescued from amid the ruins of the floor.
"To the cellars!" cried now the voice of Pierre Le Febre. "Let us taste
the old chevalier's wine and brandy."
"Good, Pierre!" said Andrew. "Once let them get among the casks and
bottles, and we are safe."
"If Pierre does not get among them himself," said I.
"I do not believe he will, and in any case we have the boat. But it is
time we were stirring. Aunt, can you walk?"
"Oh, yes! I can do anything you wish," answered my mother, in the same
calm way. She seemed to have all her wits about her, but she did not
speak unless we spoke to her.
"Come, then," and he opened the door of the secret passage into which
pussy led the way, majestically waving his tail and looking back as if
to say, "Come on, and fear nothing! You are under my protection."
I remember smiling, in all my grief and anxiety, at his air of
patronage.
I went first, after I had lighted the lantern, then came my mother, and
lastly Andrew.
We heard only distant and muffled sounds, and judged that the people
were busied in the cellar, where was stored not only wine and liquor,
but abundance of old cider, strong as brandy itself.
We had just reached the level of the chapel and were about passing
the door which led into it, when Blanchon the cat stopped, growling
fiercely. In another moment a light shone through the opened door. The
next Blanchon sprang forward with his wild, unearthly yell of onset,
and flung himself into the face of a man who had just put his head
through the opening. There was a scream of quite another character,
and the man fled stumbling and falling on his way out, while Blanchon
came back to us with the loud purr, which was his way of expressing
complacency.
"Good cat," said Andrew. "That man won't find his way back in a hurry,
but some one else may. Hold up the light, Vevette."
I held up the light while Andrew pulled to the door and with a stone
smashed the spring-lock.
"Nobody will open that, even if any one dares try," said he. "Now for
all the haste we can make."
I caught up Blanchon and carried him, to which he made no objection.
We were soon in the open air, and walking quickly down the course of
the stream which had scooped out the valley, we found ourselves in the
little hamlet. It seemed to be deserted. Not a man was to be seen,
nor a light, save in Isabeau's cottage. The night had grown wild and
stormy, but it was not very dark. And we could see the mast of the
boat, which lay at the end of the little pier.
"Now if Pierre has been true," said Andrew, and at that moment we heard
his voice.
"Monsieur and madame, is that you! All is ready; but we shall have a
wild night."
"Never mind, so long as the wind is fair," returned Andrew, in the same
whisper. "I would rather face the sea than the devils we have left
behind."
We were assisted into the boat. I holding fast to my cat, and set sail.
I can give little account of the voyage. I know it was a rough and
tempestuous one, and that we were many times in the greatest danger
from the rocks and counter currents which make navigation in those
parts so difficult.
Andrew had the helm most of the time, while Pierre, whose smuggling and
other lawless exploits had made him well acquainted with the channel,
directed our course. My mother sat quite still under the half-deck of
the boat, and I dozed by fits, with Blanchon in my lap, who now and
then uttered a peevish growl, as he vainly tried to lick himself dry.
"There comes the morning at last," said Le Febre joyously; "and here
is the blessed St. Aubin's bay spread out before us, if we can but get
into it. I would we had a better pilot than myself."
"Yonder comes a boat which has been out all night," said Andrew. And he
stood up and hailed her in English:
"Boat ahoy!"
"Hilloa!" came back, as the stranger rapidly overhauled us. "Who are
you?"
"English," was the answer. "We have ladies on board. Where are you
bound?"
"To St. Aubin's," was the reply. "Follow us, and you will do well
enough."
"Good!" said Andrew to my mother. "We shall land close at home. And now
that we are comparatively safe, tell me, Pierre, did I not hear your
voice at the tower last night?"
"You did, monsieur," was the reply. "I had a mind to see what was going
on, for I knew I would get back in time, and without being missed. It
was I who put the rascals up to break into the cellars. The priest
tried to draw them away after him to search the old chapel, but he did
not know his men so well as I did. Then, when I saw them well engaged,
I took to my heels and reached the pier before you, not having so far
to go, or knowing the way better. But where were you when the floors
fell? I trembled for you then."
"We were safe enough, and not far off," was the reply. "Was any one
much hurt?"
"Yes; Michaud will die, and a good riddance too. There were some broken
heads and bones; I don't know how many. But, monsieur, what could have
been in the chapel which handled the priest so terribly. I found him in
the court blinded in both eyes and his face torn to pieces as by a wild
beast, and he said something sprang at him in the old chapel. Could it
have been that devil of a white chevalier, think you? Could a ghost
handle a man like that?"
"I do not know whether or no ghosts can scratch," answered Andrew
gravely; "but the one who attacked the priest has been a passenger with
us."
And he raised my cloak and showed Blanchon, who had abandoned the
attempt to keep himself dry, and lay a wet and sulky heap in my lap.
Pierre's face fell.
"A white cat," said he. "If I had known we had a white cat on board,
I should have given up in despair a dozen times. However, all is well
that ends well," he added, brightening up; "and here we come sure
enough."
"And yonder is your cousin's house, Vevette," said Andrew, pointing to
a comfortable-looking mansion not far-away. "We shall soon be under a
roof once more."
The family of the fisherman whose boat had preceded us were gathered
at the landing to see us come in, and loud were their exclamations of
wonder and pity as my mother and myself were assisted from our cramped
position in the bottom of the boat to the landing-place.
By one of the boys Andrew sent a message up to the house, and in what
seemed a wonderfully short time we were surrounded and conveyed to the
mansion Andrew had pointed out, by a troop of excited boys and girls,
under the leadership of an elderly considerate manservant. Here we were
warmly welcomed, kissed, fed with hot soup and mulled wine, and finally
put to bed in the most fluffy of feather-beds, my mother and myself in
adjoining rooms. Maman was still in the same curiously passive state,
but not unconscious.
"Go to rest, my Vevette," she said, kissing me as I hung over her.
"Have no fears for me. I shall do well. Thank God that you are in
safety. Ah, if thy father were but here!" And for the first time, she
burst into tears.
"That is well, my love," said my oldest cousin, to whom I looked in
anxiety. "These tears will relieve your mother, and she will sleep, and
all the better if she knows you are at rest. Go, my child."
I was used to obey, and my kind motherly cousin inspired confidence by
her very tone. I undressed, put on the dry warm flannels provided for
me, and crept into the bed, on which Blanchon was already established.
Oh, the delicious depths of that English bed! I thought I should lie
awake to listen to the sounds from the next room, but I was worn-out,
and fell asleep before my head was fairly on the pillow.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]