othed. To feel the harsh, untainted wind
break against her, hear it shrill through the dry, shivering grasses of
the roadside and sturdy spires of heath, to see it toss the dark crests
and tufted branches of the outstanding firs at the edge of the
plantation, brought up her morale. Brought her resignation, moreover--not
of the self-indulgent order, of bowed head and languidly folded hands;
but of the sort which acknowledges loss and sorrow as common to the sum
of human experience, places it in its just relation to the rest, and,
though more heavily weighted than before, takes up the onward march,
sobered perhaps yet undismayed.

Sins of omission began to prick her. The domestic establishment ran on
wheels, even during the recent stress and agitation, though she had
ceased to exercise control over it. Now it must be reorganized--and
probably on a less liberal footing.--But these were minor questions,
comparatively simple to cope with. Her life had been full, it must find
fresh purpose, fresh interest and occupation, in a word, be refilled.

Literature allured her. She dreamed of wonderful tellings, dreamed of the
engrossing joys of the written word. But in what form--poetry, essay,
history, novel?--The extreme limitation of her own knowledge, or rather
the immensity of her own ignorance, confronted her. And that partly
through her own fault, for she had been exclusive, fastidious, disposed
to ignore both truths and people who offended her taste or failed to
strike her fancy. Hitherto she had been led by fancy and feeling rather
than by reasoned principle. She must at once simplify, broaden and
democratize her outlook. Must force herself to remember that respect is,
in some sort, due to everything--however unbeautiful, however even vile
or repugnant--which is a constant quantity in human affairs and human
character, due to everything in the realm of Nature also, however
repellent, if it _is_ really so, actually exists.

In this connection the mysterious and haunting question of sex obtruded
itself. And, along with it, the thought of two eminently diverse persons,
namely Lesbia Faircloth and the dear, the more than ever dear, man with
the blue eyes. That, in his agony, her father should have desired the
visit of the former, once his mistress, had been very bitter to bear,
provoking in Damaris a profound though silent jealousy. This had even
come in some degree between her and Faircloth. For, in proportion as
that visit m