ho read, what strength her
estimate of the reader's character gave them; nor how that
same estimate made every word of his prayer tell, and go home
to her spirit with the sharpness as well as the gentleness of
Ithuriel's spear. When Elizabeth rose from her knees, it was
with a bowed head which she could in no wise lift up; and
after Winthrop had left the room, Clam stood looking at her
mistress and thinking her own thoughts, as long as she pleased
unrebuked.

"One feels sort o' good after that, now, don't they?" was her
opening remark, when Elizabeth's head was at last raised from
her hands. "Do you think the roof of any house would ever fall
in over _his_ head? He's better'n a regiment o' soldiers."

"Is everything attended to down stairs, Clam?"

"All's straight where the Governor is," said Clam with a
sweeping bend of her head, and going about to set the room in
order; -- "there ain't two straws laid the wrong way."

"Where he is!" repeated Elizabeth -- "He isn't in the kitchen,
I suppose, Clam."

"Whenever he's in the house, always seems to me he's all
over," said Clam. "It's about that. He's a governor, you know.
Now Miss 'Lizabeth, how am I goin' to fix you for the night?"

"No way," said Elizabeth. "I shall just sleep here, as I am.
Let the lamps burn, and shut down the blinds."

"And then will I go off to the second story and leave you?"

"No, indeed -- Fetch something that you can lay on the floor,
and stay here with me."

Which Clam presently did; nothing more than a blanket however;
and remarked as she curled herself down with her head upon her
arm,

"Ain't he a handsome man, Miss 'Lizabeth?"

"Who? --" ungraciously enough.

"Why, the Governor."

"Yes, for aught I know. Lie still and go to sleep, Clam, if
you can; and let me."

Very promptly Clam obeyed this command; but her less happy
mistress, as soon as the deep drawn breaths told her she was
alone again, sat up on her sofa to get in a change of posture
a change from pain.

How alone! -- In the parlour after midnight, with the lamps
burning as if the room were gay with company; herself, in her
morning dress, on the sofa for a night's rest, and there on
her blanket on the carpet, Clam already taking it. How it told
the story, of illness and watching and desertion and danger;
how it put life and death in near and strong contrast; and the
summer wind blew in through the blinds and pushed the blinds
themselves gently out into the room,