“It will make the ground very heavy for running, I fear,” said the deep full tone of a speaker who assisted a lady to alight.
“How you are always thinking of the turf, Lord Charles!” said she, as he rather carried than aided her to the shelter of the porch.
Linton did not wait for the reply, but shut the window, and again lay down.
In that half-waking state, where sleep and fatigue contest the ground with watchfulness, Linton continued to hear the sound of several arrivals, and the indistinct impressions became commingled till all were lost in heavy slumber. So is it. Childhood itself, in all its guileless freedom, enjoys no sounder, deeper sleep than he whose head is full of wily schemes and subtle plots, when once exhausted nature gains the victory.
So profound was that dreamless state in which he lay, that he was never once aware that the door by which his chamber communicated with the adjoining one had been opened, while a select committee were debating about the disposition of the furniture, in total ignorance that he made part of it.
“Why couldn't Sir Andrew take that small room, and leave this for me? I like an alcove vastly,” said Lady Janet, as, candle in hand, she took a survey of the chamber.
“Yes, my leddy,” responded Flint, who, loaded with cloaks, mantles, and shawls, looked like an ambulating wardrobe.
“You can make him a kind of camp-bed there; he'll do very well.”
“Yes, my leddy.”
“And don't suffer that impertinent Mr. Phillis to poke his head in here and interfere with our arrangements. These appear to me to be the best rooms here, and I 'll take them.”