But whenever the train started again, the swift motion, and the late hour, and the comfortable, not to say luxurious resting-place lulled her in a light slumber, in which she was still conscious of the strange, new scene—the wondrous old country through which she was passing; feeling that she loved the old motherland of her race, and loved it well; dreaming that she was returning there after ages of expatriation; seeing shades of knights in armor, “old ancestral spirits;” seeing visions of mediæval halls, with all the barbaric pageantry of long ago, dimly shadowed forth. Then waking up to note with delight the fresh, bright rural scenes of to-day—the thickly-sown, but luxuriantly-growing fields; the green hedges; the crowded but flourishing gardens; the shrub-shaded, vinecovered cottages—the humblest laborer’s hut all mantled with flowering green creepers that made it look like a garden bower, the slenderest strip of land among the line of rails thickly planted with vegetables,—nothing wasted, nothing ugly. It was only a little past midnight, yet it was already morning, and every moment day broadened. Drusilla continued to gaze with surprise and delight upon the beautiful land; for, whatever the sky of England may be, the face of the country, especially in this region, is very charming. Sometimes Drusilla’s contemplations would be interrupted by a restless movement of little Lenny. She would then stoop and turn him over, and he would fall asleep again. General Lyon and Anna slept so soundly at length that they were not awakened by the stopping of the train, nor even by the loud snoring of Dick, who, when in a state of somnolency, was a fine performer on the proboscis—the only musical instrument he understood. Long before they reached London, its distant, huge cloud of smoke and fog hanging upon the horizon greeted the eye—its distant thunder of blended sounds came softened to the ear. Soon they were at Euston Square station, in all the great crowd and bustle of the parliamentary train’s arrival. It was surprising to them, amid the hundreds of travelers and the hills of luggage to be cared for, how soon our party, without much effort on their own part, was attended to. Before they had time to become impatient, they found themselves in one cab, followed by their servants in another, bowling along through the streets of London. It was but little past four o’clock, and all the shops were still closed, and the sidewalks nearly deserted. Only the earliest bakers’, butchers’, and costermongers’ carts were abroad, or cabs and vans taking passengers to and from early trains, or cook-maids at the heads of area stairs, receiving from the milkman the daily supply.