er mood the heavens too grew more gloomy. Dark massy clouds
rolled along, and seemed to be bringing a storm with them. A tall man
came up the garden and approached the parlour. As he was on the point
of stepping in, she advanced to meet the stranger, who seemed to be a
person of condition. They exchanged compliments, and the stranger
begged leave to stay; "he had given his horse to a servant in the
avenue, and had then stepped into the garden which he found open;" he
regretted not finding the rest of the family; whereupon Dorothea
invited him to wait in the parlour till the storm had past, and to stay
till her mother and sisters returned from church.

"You seem not to be alarmed at the storm;" observed the stranger.

"Yes indeed," replied Dorothea, "when it comes too near, and the flash
and the stroke are one. I believe too that all men then are more or
less afraid; for where there is no possibility of resistance, where a
sudden unforeseen moment might snatch me away, I am uneasy precisely
because I cannot be on my guard. In these moments nothing gives
tranquillity but the belief in an inevitable fate, and the reflexion
that I am no better than the thousands of my fellow-men who are exposed
to the same danger."

"This is a frame of mind," said the stranger, "which I cannot but call
courageous, contrasting it with that weak one which is not uncommon
among ladies, when they almost faint for fear, lose all composure, and
weep and wail, if but the most distant flash of lightning does but
gleam across."

"Yes," said Dorothea, "and indeed I am apprehensive about my mother and
sisters, who are but too susceptible of alarm. I would not blame it,
because like may other nervous fears, it may be a disorder of the
body."

"That is a point not so easily decided," observed the stranger,
"because it would be first necessary to make a serious trial, what
strength of will is able to effect, and whether, when the soul puts a
constraint upon itself, the body does not also take some steps with it,
and health does not arise of itself where nothing but a wilful mood has
engendered the disease."

"That leads to the question," said Dorothea, "how far we are free, and
what we are able to effect by resolution in mind and body."

"Certainly," replied the other, "and not only this, but all serious
reflexions lead to the great question. Without having answered this to
ourselves, we can take an interest in nothing, and can believe neither
i