I lay and listened. At last
the door was softly set open again; and then after a few
minutes the sound of regular slow breathing proclaimed that
those wide-open black eyes were really closed for the night. I
got up, went to my governess's door and listened. She was
sleeping profoundly. I laid hold of the handle of the door and
drew it towards me; pulled out the key softly, put it in my
own side of the lock and shut the door. And after all I was
afraid to turn the key. The wicked sound of the lock might
enter those sleeping ears. But the door was closed; and I went
to my old place, the open window. It was not my window at
Melbourne, with balmy summer air, and the dewy scent of the
honeysuckle coming up, and the moonlight flooding all the
world beneath me. But neither was it in the regions of the
North. The night was still and mild, if not balmy; and the
stars were brilliant; and the evergreen oaks were masses of
dark shadow all over the lawn. I do not think I saw them at
first; for my look was up to the sky, where the stars shone
down to greet me, and where it was furthest from all the
troubles on the surface of the earth; and with one thought of
the Friend up there, who does not forget the troubles of even
His little children, the barrier in my heart gave way, my
tears gushed forth; my head lay on the windowsill at Magnolia,
more hopelessly than in my childish sorrow it had ever lain at
Melbourne.
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