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 "that all my family must have as much sleep as their constitutions require, and no more. It is a kind of suicide to allow more time than is necessary to sleep. When you are up, Lucy, do you not wish, before you begin your day's work, a little time to yourself?"

"I always had it, ma'am, when I lived at home and at Mrs. Lovett's; but no one else that I have lived with ever spoke to me about it, or seemed to remember that a servant might want time to say her prayers."

"Have you lived without them, then?"

"Indeed I have not, Mrs. Hyde. Mother always told us that the heart can rise to God in prayer at any time, just as a little child, when it is in the room with its mother, whatever happens, turns its eyes to her. Sometimes in the thickest of my work, and always when I feel either very glad or very sorry—" Lucy paused, and a blush overspread her cheek; she was abashed at the thought of how freely she, who had never spoken on such subjects but to her mother, was confiding her spiritual experience. "Go on, my child," said Mrs. Hyde, with a smile so sweet and kind that Lucy forgot everything but that she was talking to one who listened with interest. "I was only going to say, ma'am, that I could always pray, even at Mrs. Hartell's, where there was no outward sign there was a God—except little Eugene, and he seemed to me just like an angel from heaven; and I felt sometimes, when his head lay on my bosom, as if we were worshipping together."

"Oh, how much better is this true worship," thought Mrs. Hyde, "than formal prayers and set