"Good heavens—fire—water! What is it?—I'm drowning—" gasped Miss Peters.
She raised her eyes, choked, for her mouth had been open, and some of the contents of the sponge had got in, and then surveyed her sister in trepidation.
"Oh, Martha, it's you. How you frightened me!"
"I only applied the sponge," replied Mrs. Butler. "It's an old-fashioned remedy for inordinate drowsiness, and effectual."
"But surely, surely—I feel as if I had only just dropped to sleep."
"Maria, it's five o'clock."
"Five! What do you mean, Martha? Am I to be accused of inordinate sleepiness at five in the morning?"
"On this morning you are. This is the wedding morning—get up, dress yourself. Put on your bridal finery, and join me in the parlor."
Mrs. Butler left the room. Miss Peters rubbed her sleepy eyes again.
"The wedding morning! and my bridal finery!" she murmured. "One would think poor Sam had never been drowned. I don't think Martha has any heart. She knows how I suffered about Sam. He certainly never proposed for me, but he was attentive—yes, he was attentive, and I—I suffered. It's thirty years now since he was drowned. Martha oughtn't to forget. People have no memories in these days."