And Joe thinks it
would be a famous job if father could sell all of the stones on our
fell at five shillings a bagful, and a breakfast at odd times. And
would it not be so, Miss Sandal? But I'm not easy in my mind about
Joe changing the stones; though, as Joe says, one make of stone is
about the same as another.
"Sophia, you are sleepy now."
"Yes, a little. You can finish to-morrow."
Then she laid down the simple letter, and sat very still for a little
while. Her heart was busy. There is a solitary place that girdles our
life into which it is good to enter at the close of every day. There we
may sit still with our own soul, and commune with it; and out of its
peace pass easily into the shadowy kingdom of sleep, and find a little
space of rest prepared. So Charlotte sat in quiet meditation until
Sophia was fathoms deep below the tide of life. Sight, speech, feeling,
where were they gone? Ah! when the door is closed, and the windows
darkened, who can tell what passes in the solemn temple of mortality?
Are we unvisited then? Unfriended? Uncounselled?
"Behold!
The solemn spaces of the night are thronged
By bands of tender dreams, that come and go
Over the land and sea; they glide at will
Through all the dim, strange realms of men asleep,
And visit every soul."
CHAPTER VI.
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