Still, this trifle had produced one abiding result. I knew it not
then; but I know it now. As I looked out on the reviving, re-assuring
sunlight, it was easy enough for me to dismiss as ridiculous from my
mind, or rather from my conscience, the tendency to see in the two
shadowy forms of my dream, the types of two real living beings, whose
names almost trembled into utterance on my lips; but I could not also
dismiss from my heart the love-images which that dream had set up
there for the worship of the senses. Those results of the night still
remained within me, growing and strengthening with every minute.

If I had been told beforehand how the mere sight of the morning would
reanimate and embolden me, I should have scouted the prediction as too
outrageous for consideration; yet so it was. The moody and boding
reflections, the fear and struggle of the hours of darkness were gone
with the daylight. The love-thoughts of Margaret alone remained, and
now remained unquestioned and unopposed. Were my convictions of a few
hours since, like the night-mists that fade before returning sunshine?
I knew not. But I was young; and each new morning is as much the new
life of youth, as the new life of Nature.

So I left my study and went out. Consequences might come how they
would, and when they would; I thought of them no more. It seemed as if
I had cast off every melancholy thought, in leaving my room; as if my
heart had sprung up more elastic than ever, after the burden that had
been laid on it during the night. Enjoyment for the present, hope for
the future, and chance and fortune to trust in to the very last! This
was my creed, as I walked into the street, determined to see Margaret
again, and to tell her of my love before the day was out. In the
exhilaration of the fresh air and the gay sunshine, I turned my steps
towards Hollyoake Square, almost as light-hearted as a boy let loose