ing nothing
she ought to have done, because her mind was so full of all the things
she was going to do. What she feared was that she would never be able
to wake herself in time, and she went to bed at a preposterously early
hour, and sat long in her night-dress, thinking how to manage it. At
last it occurred to her that if she tied her great toe to the bed-post
with a piece of string, it would give her a jerk when she moved, and
so awake her.

The contrivance answered only too well. She could not sleep for a long
time, and when at last she dropped off, she was almost immediately
awakened by a pitiless jerk from the string. She had Aunt Victoria's
old watch under her pillow, and lighted a match to see the time. It
was only twelve. When would the day break? She turned, and tossed, and
fidgeted. The string on her toe was very uncomfortable, but nothing
would have induced her to be so weak as to take it off. One, two,
three, she heard the church-clock strike, but it was still pitch dark.
Then she dozed off again, but in a minute, as it seemed to her, she
was re-aroused by the string. She gave a great weary sigh and opened
her eyes. It was all grey daylight in the room.

Beth was out of bed as soon as she could get the string off her toe.
The water was very cold, and she shivered and yawned and stretched
over it, but washed herself with exaggerated conscientiousness all the
same, then huddled on her clothes, and stood awhile, not knowing quite
what to do next. She had slept with the window open, and now she drew
up the blind. Under the leaden sky the apple-trees showed no tinge of
colour, and it was as if white sheets had been spread out over them
for the night. Beth thought of curl-papers and rooms all covered up
from the dust when Harriet was sweeping, and felt no enthusiasm. She
was on the west side of the house, and could not therefore see the sun
rise; but she must see the sunrise--sunrise--sunrise. She had never
seen the sunrise. The sea was east. It would rise over the sea. The
sea at sunrise! The very thought of it took her breath away. She put
on her things and slipped into the acting-room. Her mother took the
front-door key up to her room with her when she went to bed at night,
so that the only way out was by the acting-room window. Beth swung
herself round the bar, crept cautiously down the tiles to the pump,
jumped to the ground, then ran up the entry, and let herself out by
the back-gate into the street. There