t life without complaining, that it is because she
has done what she ought to do, and left nothing undone which
she ought to have done. I planted her in my little garden, and
she grew up to my window; she gave me buds first, and then
flowers--bright smiling flowers; and when I was ill she gave
me holy happy thoughts about God and Christ. And therefore I
wish to do likewise--to do my duty in that state of life to
which it shall please God to call me; and then to die quietly,
when it shall please Him, like my passion flower."

As she was finishing these words, I was startled by the loud
and angry tones of Henry and of Mrs. Tracy, who seemed to be
disputing violently. They were speaking both at the same time,
and his voice was quite hoarse with anger. I overheard these
words:--"I tell you that if you do not command yourself, and
behave as I desire you, I will never see you again, or put my
foot into your house."

A tremendous oath followed this threat, and then their voices
subsided. I looked at Alice; she seemed concerned, but not
surprised or agitated, at what was going on down-stairs, and
merely closed the door of her room, which had been left open.
A that moment, however, Henry came half-way up the stairs, and
calling to me said that it was late, and that we had better be
setting out again. I complied, and in coming down into the
room below I was civilly greeted by Mrs. Tracy, who thanked me
for my visit, and muttered something about hoping we should
soon meet again. Had it not been for Alice, who had interested
and charmed me to an extraordinary degree, I should have
formed exactly a contrary wish, for I had never more heartily
agreed with any opinion than with that which Henry had
pronounced about his former nurse; and her civility was to my
mind more repulsive still than her ungraciousness. I took
leave of her coldly enough, but earnestly pressing Alice's
hand as I mounted my horse, I whispered in her ear, "Alice, I
like your poem better than mine," and rode off.

We took a different road from that we had come by, and skirted
the edge of a small lake that lies on the eastern side of the
Bridman Woods. The day was altered, and dark clouds were
beginning to gather over the sky; the wind was whistling among
the bare branches, and Henry was unusually silent and
pre-occupied. I felt depressed too, and we did not speak for
some time. I was revolving in my mind what possible cause
there could be for a man of Henry's