the everlasting
cedars, with their pointed tops and their hues of patient
sobriety -- all stood nearly as she had left them, how many
years before. And herself -- Elizabeth felt as if she could
have laid herself down on the doorstep and died, for mere
heart-heaviness. In this bright sunny world, what had she to
do? The sun had gone out of her heart. What was to become of
her? What miserable part should she play, all alone by
herself? She despised herself for having eaten breakfast that
morning. What business had she to eat, or to have any appetite
to eat, when she felt so? But Winthrop had made her do it.
What for? Why should he? It was mere aggravation, to take care
of her for a day, and then throw her off for ever to take care
of herself. How soon would he do that? --

She was musing, her eyes on the ground; and had quite
forgotten the sunny landscape before her with all its gentle
suggestions; when Winthrop's voice sounded pleasantly in her
ear, asking if she felt better. Elizabeth looked up.

"I was thinking," she said, "that if there were nothing better
to be had in another world, I could almost find it in my heart
to wish I had never been born into this!"

She expected that he would make some answer to her, but he did
not. He was quite silent; and Elizabeth presently began to
question with herself whether she had said something dreadful.
She was busily taking up her own words, since he had not saved
her the trouble. She found herself growing very much ashamed
of them.

"I suppose that was a foolish speech," she said, after a few
moments of perfect silence, -- "a speech of impatience."

But Winthrop neither endorsed nor denied her opinion; he said
nothing about it; and Elizabeth was exceedingly mortified.

"If you wanted to rebuke me," she thought, "you could not have
done it better. I suppose there is no rebuke so sharp as that
one is obliged to administer to oneself. And your cool keeping
silence is about as effectual a way of telling me that you
have no interest in my concerns as even you could have
devised."

Elizabeth's eyes must have swallowed the landscape whole, for
they certainly took in no distinct part of it.

"How are you going to make yourself comfortable here?" said
Winthrop presently; -- "these rooms are unfurnished."

She might have said that she did not expect to be comfortable
anywhere; but she swallowed that too.

"I will go and see what I can do in the way of getting some
furni