gaslight at the end of the corridor, an unknown figure pass the foot
of the stair: could she have anything to do with the marvel of the
day? The woman looked up, and Phosy dropped the question. Yet she
might be a charwoman, whose assistance the expected advent rendered
necessary. When she reached the bottom of the stair she saw her
disappearing in her step-mother's room. That she did not like. It was
the one room into which she could not go. But, as the house was so
still, she would search everywhere else, and if she did not find him,
would then sit down in the hall and wait for him.

The room next the foot of the stair, and opposite her step-mother's, was
the spare room, with which she associated ideas of state and grandeur:
where better could she begin than at the guest-chamber?--There!--Could
it be? Yes!--Through the chink of the scarce-closed door she saw light.
Either he was already there or there they were expecting him. From that
moment she felt as if lifted out of the body. Far exalted above all
dread, she peeped modestly in, and then entered. Beyond the foot of the
bed, a candle stood on a little low table, but nobody was to be seen.
There was a stool near the table: she would sit on it by the candle,
and wait for him. But ere she reached it, she caught sight of something
upon the bed that drew her thither. She stood entranced.--_Could_ it
be?--It _might_ be. Perhaps he had left it there while he went into her
mamma's room with something for her.--The loveliest of dolls ever
imagined! She drew nearer. The light was low, and the shadows were
many: she could not be sure what it was. But when she had gone close
up to it, she concluded with certainty that it was in very truth a
doll--perhaps intended for her--but beyond doubt the most exquisite
of dolls. She dragged a chair to the bed, got, up, pushed her little
arms softly under it, and drawing it gently to her, slid down with it.
When she felt her feet firm on the floor, filled with the solemn