seem to
know it and sat looking straight before her at the sunny
landscape.

"It's a beautiful place," said Mrs. Nettley after a little
pause of doubt.

"Very beautiful," said Elizabeth coldly.

"I did not know it was so beautiful. And a healthy place, I
should suppose."

Elizabeth left the supposition unquestioned.

"You are sadly fatigued, Miss Haye," said Mrs. Nettley after a
longer pause than before.

"I suppose I am," said Elizabeth rising, for patience had
drawn her last breath; -- "I am going down by the water to
rest. Don't let any one follow me or call me -- I want nothing
-- only to rest by myself."

And drawing her scarf round her, she strode through the rank
grass to the foot of the lawn, and then between scattered
rocks and sweetbriars and wild rose-bushes, to the fringe of
cedar trees which there clothed the rocks down to the water.
Between and beneath them, just where she came out upon the
river, an outlooking mass of granite spread itself smooth and
wide enough to seat two or three people. The sun's rays could
not reach there, except through thick cedar boughs. Cedar
trees and the fall of ground hid it from the house; and in
front a clear opening gave her a view of the river and
opposite shore, and of a cedar-covered point of her own land,
outjutting a little distance further on. Solitude, silence,
and beauty invited her gently; and Elizabeth threw herself
down on the grey lichen-grown stone; but rest was not there.

"Rest!" -- she said to herself in great bitterness; -- "rest!
How can I rest? -- or where can there be rest for me? --"

And then passionate nature took its will, and poured out to
itself and drank all the deep draughts of pain that passion
alone can fill and refill for its own food. Elizabeth's proud
head bowed there, to the very rock she sat on. Yet the proud
heart would not lay itself down as well; _that_ stood up to
breast pain and wrestle with it, and take the full fierce
power of the blast that came. Till nature was tired out, --
till the frame subsided from convulsions that racked it, into
weary repose, -- so long the struggle lasted; and then the
struggle was not ended, but only the forces on either side had
lost the power of carrying it on. And then she sat, leaning
against a cedar trunk that gave her its welcome support, which
every member and muscle craved; not relieved, but with that
curious respite from pain which the dulled senses take when
they have borne suff