ought that anybody so homely and awkward could suppose"--No, I must
not "suppose." Once, in the midst of it all, I calmed down, took a
light, and, very deliberately walking to the glass, took a complete view
of my face and figure,--but with no other effect than to settle me more
firmly in my wretchedness. Towards morning I grew calmer, and resolved
to look composedly upon my condition, and decide what should be done.

While I was considering whether or not to continue my visits at the
Woods', I fell asleep just where I had thrown myself, outside the bed,
in overcoat and boots. I dreamed of seeing "Pink and Blue" carried off
by some horrid monster,--which, upon examination, proved to be myself.
The sun shining in my face woke me, and I remembered that I had decided
upon nothing. The best thing seemed to be to snap off the acquaintance
and quit the place. But then I could not leave my mother. No, I must
keep where I was,--and if I kept where I was, I must keep on at the
Woods',--and if I kept on at the Woods', I should keep on feeling just
as I did, and perhaps--more so. I resolved, finally, to remain where
I was, and to take no abrupt step, (which might cause remark,) but
to break off my visits gradually. The first week, I could skip one
night,--the next, two,--and so on,--using my own judgment about tapering
off the acquaintance gradually and gracefully to an imperceptible point.
The way appearing plain at last, how that _unloving_ might be made easy,
I assumed a cheerful air, and went down to breakfast. My mother looked
up rather anxiously at my entrance; but her anxiety evidently vanished
at sight of my face.

It did not seem to me quite right to forsake the Woods that morning; for
some snow had fallen during the night, and I felt it incumbent upon me
to dig somewhat about the doors. With my trousers tucked into my boots,
I trod a new path across the field. It would have seemed strange not to
go in; so I went in and warmed my feet at the kitchen-fire. Only Mrs.
Wood was there; but I made no inquiries. Not knowing what to say, I rose
to go; but, just at that minute, the mischievous Ellen came running out
of the keeping-room and wanted to know where I was going. Why didn't I
come in and see Jane? So I went in to see Jane, saying my prayers, as I
went,--that is, praying that I might not grow foolish again. But I did.
I don't believe any man could have helped it. She was reclining upon
a couch which was drawn towards the