Louis awoke from a calm, sound sleep very early the next morning, with a dim, indistinct recollection of having, when half awake during the night, seen Dr. Wilkinson standing by him, and of a consciousness of a hand being laid on his forehead and his hands; but, as he did not feel certain, much less suppose it likely, he settled that he must have dreamed it. It was quite dark when he awoke, and it was some few minutes before the events of the preceding day ranged themselves in any order in his mind; and then his thoughts flew to that rest whence they had been so long absent.
In about half an hour, several of his school-fellows began to rouse themselves, and, a candle or two being lighted, dressing was hastily accomplished; and, rolling themselves up in counterpanes and blankets, shawl fashion, they proceeded to pore over the books they had brought up the night before.
“I don't mean to get up,” growled Frank; ”it's a great deal more comfortable in bed. Clifton, bring me my candle here, and put it on that chair—I shall make a studium of my couch.”
“Dr. Wilkinson asked if we read with candles near the beds,” said Clifton. “He said he wouldn't have us read in bed unless it were daylight, Digby.”
“Well, we'll suppose he didn't,” said Frank, “so come along.”
“No, I won't,” said Clifton, sitting down, near a chest of drawers, on which was a candle, the joint property of himself, Reginald, and Louis.
“You won't, won't you?” said Frank, coolly; “Reginald, my candle's near you, I'll trouble you for it.”
“You must take the consequences, then,” said Reginald, “for I heard the doctor say so.”
“I didn't,” said Frank, snuffing his candle, and opening a book; “Meredith, I'd advise you to follow my example.”
“I followed it yesterday, and fell asleep in uncomfortable snoozes till the bell rang,” yawned Meredith. “Reading one word and dreaming six may be entertaining, but it is certainly not instructive.”