And it also brought sleep to her eyes. Soon after, resting her cheek upon the pillow, whose white case was almost hidden under the loose flood of her dishevelled hair, she sank into slumber.
It was pleasant, if not profound. Sabby, sitting beside the bed, and gazing upon the countenance of the sleeper, could tell by the play of her features that her spirit was disturbed by a dream.
It could not be a painful one. Otherwise would it have contradicted the words, that in soft murmuring came forth from her unconscious lips:
“I now know that he loves me. Oh! it is sweet—so sweet!”
“Dat young gal am in lub to de berry tops ob her toe nails. Sleepin’ or wakin’ she nebba get cured ob dat passion—nebba?” And with this sage forecast, the Creole took up the bedroom candlestick, and silently retired.
Chapter Sixty Four.
A Painful Promise.
However light and sweet had been her slumber, Blanche Vernon awoke with a heaviness on her mind.