from a poem
beginning:

"The river of thy thoughts must keep
its solemn course too still and deep
For idle eyes to see."

Their false intonation of voice and the wordy spirit of the poem
convinced me that poetry with them was an artificial taste. I turned
away. The dark earth and the rolling sky were better. Ben followed.

"I hope Veronica's letter will come to-morrow," he said with a groan.

"Veronica! Why Veronica?"

"Don't torment me."

"She writes letters seldom."

"I have written her."

"She has never written me."

"It might be the means of revealing you to each other to do so."

"Ben, your native air is deleterious."

"You laugh. I feel what you say. I do not attempt to play the
missionary at home, for my field is not here."

"You were wise not to bring Veronica, I see already."

"She would see what I hate myself for."

"One may venture farther with a friend than a lover."

"I thought that _you_ might understand the results of my associations.
Curse them all! Come, girls, we must go back."

CHAPTER XXX.

I took a cold that night. Belem was damp always, but its midnight damp
was worse than any other. Mrs. Somers sent me medicine. Adelaide asked
me, with an air of contemplation, what made me sick, and felt her own
pulse. Ann criticised my nightgown ruffles, and accused me of wearing
imitation lace; but nursing was her forte, and she stayed by me,
annoying me by a frequent beating up of my pillow, and the bringing
in of bowls of strange mixtures for me to swallow, which she persuaded
the cook to make and her father to taste.

Before I left my room, Mrs. Somers came to see me.

"You are about well, I hear," she said, in a cold voice.

I felt as if I had been shamming sickness.

"I thought you were in remarkable health, your frame is so large."

Adelaide was there, and answered for me. "You _are_ delicate. It must
be because you do not take care of yourself."

"Wolf's Point to be avoided, perhaps!"

"I have walked to Wolf's Point for fifteen years, night and day, many
times."

"Mr. Munster's man left this note for you," her mother said, handing
it to her.

She read an invitation from Miss Munster, a cousin, to a small party.

"You will not be able to go," Mrs. Somers remarked to me.

"You will go," Adelaide said; "it is an attention to you altogether."

She never replied to her mother, never asked her any questions, so
that talking between them was a one-sided af