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257
Cranford
·
Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell
244
She
talked
me
to
sleep
at
last,
and
then
I
was
awakened
by
a
slight
sound
at
the
door,
for
which
she
begged
my
pardon
as
she
crept
penitently
into
bed;
but
it
seems
that
when
I
could
no
longer
confirm
her
belief
that
the
long-lost
was
really
here—
under
the
same
roof—
she
had
begun
to
fear
lest
it
was
only
a
waking
dream
of
hers;
that
there
never
had
been
a
Peter
sitting
by
her
all
that
blessed
evening—
but
that
the
real
Peter
lay
dead
far
away
beneath
some
wild
sea-wave,
or
under
some
strange
eastern
tree.
And
so
strong
had
this
nervous
feeling
of
hers
become,
that
she
was
fain
to
get
up
and
go
and
convince
herself
that
he
was
really
there
by
listening
through
the
door
to
his
even,
regular
breathing—
I
don’t
like
to
call
it
snoring,
but
I
heard
it
myself
through
two
closed
doors—
and
by-and-by
it
soothed
Miss
Matty
to
sleep.
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