The spring languor was over even her young limbs; the sweet twitter of birds, the gathering bird-like flutter of leaves before a soft swell of air, the rustle of her aunt's gilt-edged paper, an occasional hiss of her silken flounces, grew dim and confused.

Lucina, as well as her doll, fell asleep, leaning her pretty head against the arbor trellis-work.

Camilla did not disturb her; she had never in her life disturbed the peace or the slumber of any soul.

She only gazed at her now and then, with gentle, half-abstracted affection, then wrote again.
Presently, stepping with that subtlest silence of motion through the quiet garden, came a great yellow cat.

She rubbed against Miss Camilla's knees with that luxurious purr of love and comfort which is itself a completest slumber song, then made a noiseless leap to a sunny corner of the bench, and settled herself there in a yellow coil of sleep.