ired of seeing you? Oh no!"

"I feel myself to be going about like a phantom, and I am ashamed of
myself. My brother is successful and happy, and has all that he
desires."

"He is easily satisfied," said Patience, with something of sarcasm in
her voice.

"And my cousin Ralph is happy and triumphant. I ought not to pine,
but in truth I am so weak that I am always pining. Tell me at
once,--is there a chance for me?"

Did it occur to him to think that she to whom he was speaking, ever
asked herself why it was not given to her to have even a hope of that
joy for which he was craving? Did she ever pine because, when others
were mating round her, flying off in pairs to their warm mutual
nests, there came to her no such question of mating and flying off
to love and happiness? If there was such pining, it was all inward,
hidden from her friends so that their mirth should not be lessened by
her want of mirth, not expressed either by her eye or mouth because
she knew that on the expression of her face depended somewhat of the
comfort of those who loved her. A homely brow, and plain features,
and locks of hair that have not been combed by Love's attendant
nymphs into soft and winning tresses, seems to tell us that Love is
not wanted by the bosom that owns them. We teach ourselves to regard
such a one, let her be ever so good, with ever so sweet temper, ever
so generous in heart, ever so affectionate among her friends, as
separated alike from the perils and the privileges of that passion
without which they who are blessed or banned with beauty would regard
life but as a charred and mutilated existence. It is as though we
should believe that passion springs from the rind, which is fair
or foul to the eye, and not in the heart, which is often fairest,
freshest, and most free, when the skin is dark and the cheeks are
rough. This young parson expected Patience to sympathise with him, to
greet for him, to aid him if there might be aid, and to understand
that for him the world would be blank and wretched unless he could
get for himself a soft sweet mate to sing when he sang, and to wail
when he wailed. The only mate that Patience had was this very girl
that was to be thus taken from her. But she did sympathise with him,
did greet for him, did give him all her aid. Knowing what she was
herself and how God had formed her, she had learned to bury self
absolutely and to take all her earthly joy from the joys of others.
Shall it not com