ing heart was kept
down. Will had the mastery, however, and her face looked up
again more dark than ever.

"We have talked of nothing at all," she said. "Mr. Landholm
only came to bring a letter."

Mr. Landholm could not stay after that, for anything. He bowed
himself out; and left Elizabeth standing in the middle of the
floor, looking as if the crust of the earth had given way
under her and 'chaos was come again.' She stood there as she
had stood in the window, still and cold; and Rose afar off by
the chimney corner stood watching her, as one would a wild
beast or a venomous creature in the room, not a little fear
mingled with a shadow of something else in her face.

Elizabeth's first movement was to walk a few steps up and
down, swinging one clenched hand, but half the breadth of the
room was all she went. She sunk down there beside a chair and
hid her face, exclaiming or rather groaning out, one after the
other, -- "Oh! -- oh!" -- in such tones as are dragged from very
far down in the heart; careless of Rose's hearing her.

"What is the matter, Lizzie?" -- her companion ventured
timidly. But Elizabeth gave no answer; and neither of them
stirred for many minutes, an occasional uneasy flutter of
Rose's being the exception. The question at last was asked
over again, and responded to.

"That my father has disgraced himself, and that you are the
cause!"

"There's no disgrace," said Rose.

"Don't say he has not!" said Elizabeth, looking up with an eye
that glared upon her adversary. "And before he had done it, I
wish you had never been born, -- or I."

"It's no harm, --" said Rose confusedly.

"Harm! -- harm, --" repeated Elizabeth; then putting her face
down again; "Oh! -- what's the use of living, in such a world!"

"I don't see what harm it does to you," said Rose, muttering
her words.

"Harm?" repeated Elizabeth. "If it was right to wish it, --
which I believe it isn't, -- I could wish that I was dead. It
almost seems to me I wish I were!"

"You're not sure about it," said Rose.

"No, I am not," said Elizabeth looking up at her again with
eyes of fire and a face from which pain and passion had driven
all but livid colour, -- but looking at her steadily, --
"because there is something after death; and I am not sure
that I am ready for it. I _dare_ not say I wish I was dead, Rose
Cadwallader, or you would drive me to it!"

"I'm sure, I've done nothing," -- said Rose whimpering.

"Done nothing!" sa