I dreamt that I was standing before a mirror, looking at the reflection of my own face and figure. My arms, neck, and head were glittering with wonderful jewels; and yet it did not seem strange to me that I should be decked out in such a regal fashion. The glitter of the gems was almost too bright to be borne—so bright that I woke with a start, and found that a coal in the grate had burst into a brilliant blaze. No doubt it was that sudden light, dancing before my closed eyes, that had been the cause of my dream. The hands of my watch pointed to a quarter to ten. I rose from my seat, undressed as quietly as possible, and went to bed. All night long I slept as soundly and peacefully as a child, and the dream did not come to me again. I woke at seven the next morning, and got up without noise to wash and dress. Looking through the window of my little dressing-room, I saw the London sun shining cheerfully on the yard where nurse had cultivated ferns and ivy. She seemed to have had uncommon luck with her plants, for they flourished as town-plants seldom do. The bold sparrows were twittering merrily in the early light, and their notes were full of joy and hope. After all, there were plenty of chances in life; and the world was not quite as dark as it had seemed to my fancy last night. Ronald had slept well, and was wide awake when I brought him the breakfast-tray. I had found time to tell nurse about my mysterious appointment in Soho Square. She entered heartily into my little plan, and came into the parlour while I was putting on my bonnet and mantle. "Where is Mrs. Hepburne?" my husband asked, when nurse went to see how he was getting on with breakfast. "Gone out for a little fresh air and shopping, sir," I heard her answer, promptly. "She'll be back in half-an-hour. Nothing like a morning run, sir, for one who has been nursing, you know. Dear me, how fast you are picking up, to be sure!" I hastened out of the house, knowing well enough that I could trust the good soul to look after Ronald in my absence. At the top of my speed I raced along Oxford Street, keeping pace with the bustling clerks on their way to business, and never once stopping to glance at a shop window. When I turned at last into Soho Street, I was out of breath, and glad to stroll slowly along the pavement of the old square. Neither the doctor nor his carriage were to be seen; I was the first at the place of rendezvous, and had leisure to rest and look round. First I looked at the piano store, and wondered how the doctor knew that there was a guitar to be found there? And then I stood still, and gazed at the so-called garden in the middle of the square, and watched my merry friends, the sparrows, hopping about on the budding twigs. This uncountrified spot of green had a sort of attraction for my eyes, and kept my thoughts busy till Dr. Warstone's carriage came rattling up to the place where I stood.