[PFARS-devel] S justly called by the American editor of Wheaton, and whose

[Hilcher I. <ca...@wu...>]

St as a personal wrong. That the glare of the sunshine should fall on
her pain--that the necessity for meeting mere acquaintances with the
same face as yesterday should exist, now that her life lay so scorched
and sere before her, filled her with rebellious impatience. But when,
with the growing light, the first sounds of household waking came to
her, she rose wearily, and went, with tired, heavy steps to her own
room. And Nelly, coming in half an hour later, with an indefinite sense
of uneasiness, found an older face than last evening's on the pillow,
with harder lines about the mouth, and with a wearier droop of the
eyelids. The voice, too, that answered her good morning, had a kind of
echoing dreariness in it. But such traces are not patent to many eyes or
ears, and Nelly did not realize them. There are a few women, mostly of
this dark, slender type, who bear these wrenching heart agonies as some
animals bear extremest suffering of body--not a sound or struggle
testifies to pain--receiving blow after blow without hope or thought of
appeal--going off by and by to die, or to suffer back to life alone. Not
much merit in it, perhaps--a passive, hopeless endurance of an
inevitable torture; but such tortures warp or shape a lifetime. Rarely
ever eyes that have watched out such a night see the sun rise with its
old promise. Clement Moore, coming slowly back to life after a fortnight
of delirium, found the woods ablaze with October, and Miss Berkeley
gone. Another fortnight, and he was with his regiment. Captain
George--off on some scouting expedition--was not in camp to meet him.
But stretched out on the dry turf a night or two after, through the
clash of