Well, I don’t know how it is--but things are so queer. Sometimes when I wake up in the morning, in my room, which I have had tapestried with fluted rose silk, and lie thinking, under the lace curtains; although I may have been at one of Mrs. Gnu’s splendid parties the night before, and am going to Mrs. Silke’s to dinner, and to the opera and Mrs. Settum Downe’s in the evening, and have nothing to do all the day but go to Stewart’s, or Martelle’s or Lefevre’s, and shop, and pay morning calls;--do you know, as I say, that sometimes I hear an old familiar tune played upon a hand-organ far away in some street, and it seems to me in that half-drowsy state under the laces, that I hear the girls and boys singing it in the fields where we used to play. It is a kind of dream, I suppose, but often, as I listen, I am sure that I hear Henry’s voice again that used to ring so gayly among the old trees, and I walk with him in the sunlight to the bank by the river, and he throws in the flower--as he really did--and says, with a laugh, “If it goes this side of the stump I am saved; if the other, I am lost;” and then he looks at me as if I had anything to do with it, and the flower drifts slowly off and off, and goes the other side of the old stump, and we walk homeward silently, until Henry laughs out, and says, “Thank heaven, my fate is not a flower;” and I swear to love him for ever and ever, and marry him, and live in a dingy little old room in some of the dark and dirty streets in the city. Then I doze again: but presently the music steals into my sleep, and I see him as I saw him last standing in his pulpit, so calm and noble, and drawing the strong men as well as the weak women by his earnest persuasion; and after service he smiles upon me kindly, and says, “This is my wife, and the wife, who looks like the Madonna in that picture of Andrea Del Sarto’s, which you liked so at the gallery, leads us to a little house buried in roses, looking upon a broad and lovely landscape,” and Henry whispers to me as a beautiful boy bounds into the room, “Mrs. Potiphar, I am very happy.”