CHAPTER IX.
Sophy could not sleep. At first she was too happy. Without being conscious of any degradation in her lot among the itinerant artists of Mr. Rugge's exhibition (how could she, when her beloved and revered protector had been one of those artists for years?), yet, instinctively, she shrunk from their contact. Doubtless, while absorbed in some stirring part, she forgot companions, audience, all, and enjoyed what she performed—necessarily enjoyed, for her acting was really excellent, and where no enjoyment there no excellence; but when the histrionic enthusiasm was not positively at work, she crept to her grandfather with something between loathing and terror of the "painted creatures" and her own borrowed tinsel.
But more than all, she felt acutely every indignity or affront offered to Gentleman Waife. Heaven knows these were not few; and to escape from such a life—to be with her grandfather alone, have him all to herself to tend and to pet, to listen to, and to prattle with, seemed to her the consummation of human felicity. Ah, but should she be all alone? Just as she was lulling herself into a doze, that question seized and roused her. And then it was not happiness that kept her waking—it was what is less rare in the female breast—curiosity. Who was to be the mysterious third, to whose acquisition the three pounds were evidently to be devoted? What new face had she purchased by the loan of her own? Not the Pig-faced Lady, nor the Spotted Boy. Could it be the Norfolk Giant, or the Calf with Two Heads? Horrible idea! Monstrous phantasmagoria began to stalk before her eyes; and, to charm them away, with great fervor she fell to saying her prayers—an act of devotion which she had forgotten, in her excitement, to perform before resting her head on her pillow—but, could we peep into the soft spirit-world around us, we might find the omission not noted down in very dark characters by the recording angel.
That act over, her thoughts took a more comely aspect than had been worn by the preceding phatasies, reflected Lionel's kind looks, and repeated his gentle words. "Heaven bless him!" she said, with emphasis, as a supplement to the habitual prayers; and then tears gathered to her grateful eyelids for she was one of those beings whose tears come slow from sorrow, quick
