Seven
o'clock
There was one morning , about a month ago . That woman -- she 's down at six every morning , summer and winter ; we have prayers at half-past . I was a trifle late meself : it was never me strong point , as ye know , early rising . Seven o'clock struck ; she did n't appear , and I thought she had overslept herself . I wo n't say I did n't feel pleased for the moment ; it was an unworthy sentiment , but I almost wished she had . I ran up to her room . The door was open , the bedclothes folded down as she always leaves them .