of just and right, that she looked in a maze of admiration and
self-condemning; rating herself lower and lower and Winthrop
higher and higher, at every fair view the moonlight gave, at
every turn that brought him near or took him further from her.
And tears -- curious tears -- that came from some very deep
wells of her nature, blinded her eyes, and rolled hot down her
cheeks, and were wiped away that she might look. "What shall I
do when he gets tired of that walk and goes somewhere else?" --
she thought; and with the thought, as instantly, Elizabeth
gathered herself up from off the floor, wiped her cheeks from
the tears, and stepped out into the moonlight. "I can't say
anything, but I suppose he will," was her meditation. "Nobody
knows when I shall have another chance." --

"They could not make it comfortable for you in there?" said
Winthrop coming up to her.

"I don't know -- yes, -- I have not tried."

"Are you very much fatigued?"

"I suppose so. -- I don't feel it."

"Can I do anything for you?"

The real answer nearly burst Elizabeth's bounds of self-
control, but nevertheless her words were quietly given.

"Yes, -- if you will only let me stay out here a little while."

He put a chair for her instantly, and himself remained
standing near, as he had done before.

"Walk on, if you wish," said Elizabeth. "Don't mind me."

But instead of that he drew up another chair, and sat down.

There was silence then that might be felt. The moonlight
poured down noiselessly on the water, and over the low dusky
distant shore; the ripples murmured under the sloop's prow;
the wind breathed gently through the sails. Now and then the
creak of the rudder sounded, but the very stars were not more
calmly peaceful than everything else.

"There is quiet and soothing in the speech of such a scene as
this," Winthrop said after a time.

"Quiet!" said Elizabeth. Her voice choked, and it was a little
while before she could go on. -- "Nothing is quiet to a mind in
utter confusion."

"Is yours so?"

"Yes."

The sobs were at her very lips, but the word got out first.

"It is no wonder," he observed gently.

"Yes it is wonder," said Elizabeth; -- "or at least it is what
needn't be. Yours wouldn't be so in any circumstances."

"What makes the confusion?" -- he asked, in a gentle
considerate tone that did not press for an answer.

"The want of a single fixed thing that my thoughts can cling
to."

He was silent a good