The cold
that precedes the dawn had stolen over her senses, and calmed
the excitement of her nerves. She was lying on the ground,
covered with a cloak of which her kind hostess had prevailed
on her to avail herself, and was partly resting on a chair, at
which she had been praying when exhausted nature gave way and
she slept. Her bonnet had fallen off, and her rich hair,
which had broken loose, covered her shoulder like a mantle.
Her slumber was brief and disturbed, but it had in a great
degree soothed the irritated brain. She woke however in
terror from a dream in which she had been dragged through a
mob and carried before a tribunal. The coarse jeers, the
brutal threats, still echoed in her ear; and when she looked
around, she could not for some moments recall or recognise the
scene. In one corner of the room, which was sufficiently
spacious, was a bed occupied by the still sleeping wife of the
inspector; there was a great deal of heavy furniture of dark
mahogany; a bureau, several chests of drawers: over the mantel
was a piece of faded embroidery framed, that had been executed
by the wife of the inspector when she was at school, and
opposite to it, on the other side, were portraits of Dick
Curtis and Dutch Sam, who had been the tutors of her husband,
and now lived as heroes in his memory.
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