She was lying in bed. The angel and the crown of thorns were only a dream. Nevertheless, she knew something that she had not known when she fell asleep. She knew now that it was quite impossible for her to choose the downward path, and she knew also that the crown of thorns made all things--even the most painful things of life--possible, if one were only doing right. The noise outside her door had been made by Honora. Honora came in with her white dressing-gown wrapped round her, and her sweet, lofty-looking face more full of compassion and more serene, even, than usual. The moment Penelope saw her, she started up in bed and said with fervour: "I have had a dream--the most wonderful in the world; and I know perfectly well, at last, what I am going to do, and you needn't ask me any more. But I have made up my mind to choose the most difficult sight, and to reject the most easy Wrong." "There now," said Honora, "I knew you would." "I can't tell you any more just yet. You will know all; to-day-- everybody will know all to-day." "You would really rather I did not know first!" "It would be easier for me that you should not know first. But just tell me this. Is Mrs Hungerford really coming to-day?" "Yes," said Honora, in some surprise; "but I didn't even know that you knew her." "I don't really. Paulie was telling me about her last night, and how delighted she was at the thought of seeing her. When will she come, Nora?" "Oh, I think by quite an early train; she'll be here probably about twelve o'clock." "Nora, do you think I might drive into Marshlands quite early, that is, immediately after breakfast? I want to see my sister Brenda." "Of course you may. Oh, how white you look! I trust you are not going to be ill!" Penelope whispered to her own heart: "It's only the pain that the crown gives, and I don't mind that sort." She said aloud, in almost a cheerful voice: "No, I'm not going to be ill," and presently Honora left her. Then Penelope rose and dressed and ran downstairs. She went into the garden, which was always fresh and beautiful. Once or twice she put her hand to her forehead, as though she would feel the crown and those thorns that pierced her brow and were so sweet and sustaining. Breakfast was ready at the usual hour, and the children were gay and happy--the little Hungerfords wild with delight at the thought of seeing their mother, and Mary L'Estrange and Cara Burt were full of sympathy with regard to Penelope who, they thought, looked particularly nice that morning. "I am so glad you have got over your headache," said Mary. "Oh, yes, quite," replied Penelope. "But you must be careful to-day," said Cara; "you must stay a good deal in the shade, for it's going to be hot--very hot--even hotter than yesterday." "I am obliged to go to Marshlands," said Penelope; "but I shall be very careful," she added. The girls expostulated, and Cara called to Honora.