But in this he began to fancy he might be disappointed, for soon after Mildred left them, Lawrence fell away to sleep, resting so quietly that the Judge would not awake him, but sat listening to his loud breathings until he himself grew drowsy. But Lawrence disturbed him, and after a few short nods, he straightened up, exclaiming, “the confoundedest snorer I ever heard. I can hear him with my deaf ear. Just listen, will you!” and he frowned wrathfully at the curtained bed, where lay the unconscious object of his cogitations. “It’s of no use,” he said at last, as he heard the clock strike one. “No use to be sitting here. Nothing short of an earthquake could wake him, and sleep will do him more good than that slush in the cups. I ain’t going to sit up all night either. ‘I carn’t! I carn’t! it’s too hard,—too hard!’ Little fool!” and laughing to himself as he mimicked Lilian, he stalked into the adjoining chamber, and when at sunrise Mildred came in she found the medicines all untouched, and the Judge fairly outdoing Lawrence in the quantity and quality of his snores! But the Judge was right in one conclusion,—sleep did Lawrence more good than medicine could possibly have done, and he awoke at last greatly refreshed. Smiling pleasantly upon Mildred, whom he found sitting by him, he asked her to open the shutters, so he could inhale the morning air, and see the sun shine on the eastern hills. “My visit has had a sad commencement,” he said, as she complied with his request, and went back to his side; “and lest it should grow worse, I shall return home in a day or so. Do you think Lilian will be ready to accompany me?” Instantly the tears came to Mildred’s eyes, but Lawrence thought they were induced by a dread of losing Lilian, and he hastened to say, “She need not go, of course, unless she chooses.” “But you,—why need you go?” asked Mildred. “I was anticipating so much pleasure from your visit, and that first night you came I was so rude and foolish. You must think me a strange girl, Mr. Thornton.” Whether he thought her strange or not, he thought her very beautiful, sitting there before him in her white morning wrapper, with her cheeks fresh as roses and her brown hair parted smoothly back from her open brow. “It was wrong in Lilian to betray your confidence,” he replied; “but she did it thoughtlessly, and has apologized for it, I presume; she promised me she would.” Mildred did not tell him that she hadn’t, and he continued, “It is very natural that a girl like you should have hosts of admirers, and quite as natural that you should give to some one of them the preference. I only hope he is worthy of you, Milly.”