to be boxed up and sent.

For a while Lizzie found occupation in writing a letter to Jack, to be
read in his first lucid moment, as she told Mrs. Ford. This lady's
man-of-business came up from the village to superintend the packing of
the boxes. Her directions were strictly followed; and in no point were
they found wanting. Mr. Mackenzie bespoke Lizzie's admiration for their
friend's wonderful clearness of memory and judgment. "I wish we had that
woman at the head of affairs," said he. "'Gad, I'd apply for a
Brigadier-Generalship."--"I'd apply to be sent South," thought Lizzie.
When the boxes and letter were despatched, she sat down to await more
news. Sat down, say I? Sat down, and rose, and wondered, and sat down
again. These were lonely, weary days. Very different are the idleness of
love and the idleness of grief. Very different is it to be alone with
your hope and alone with your despair. Lizzie failed to rally her
musings. I do not mean to say that her sorrow was very poignant,
although she fancied it was. Habit was a great force in her simple
nature; and her chief trouble now was that habit refused to work. Lizzie
had to grapple with the stern tribulation of a decision to make, a
problem to solve. She felt that there was some spiritual barrier between
herself and repose. So she began in her usual fashion to build up a
false repose on the hither side of belief. She might as well have tried
to float on the Dead Sea. Peace eluding her, she tried to resign herself
to tumult. She drank deep at the well of self-pity, but found its waters
brackish. People are apt to think that they may temper the penalties of
misconduct by self-commiseration, just as they season the long
aftertaste of beneficence by a little spice of self-applause. But the
Power of Good is a more grateful master than the Devil. What bliss to
gaze into the smooth gurgling wake of a good deed, while the comely bark
sails on with floating pennon! What horror to look into the muddy
sediment which floats round the piratic keel! Go, sinner, and dissolve
it with your tears! And you, scoffing friend, there is the way out! Or
would you prefer the window? I'm an honest man forevermore.

One night Lizzie had a dream, a rather disagreeable one,--which haunted
her during many waking hours. It seemed to her that she was walking in a
lonely place, with a tall, dark-eyed man who called her wife. Suddenly,
in the shadow of a tree, they came upon an unburied corpse. Li