ndow in the drawing-room,
and looked out upon the lawn. The moon, breaking through the clouds,
shone brightly on the new-fallen snow. I sat down on a low chair,--the
curtains fell about me,--their voices came to me with a low, dreamy
sound,--I leaned my head on my hand, and fell asleep. When I awoke, the
fire had died away, and the chairs were empty.

"_March_ 20.--Mr. Lee comes every day. His father lives only a few
miles from us,--a distance so short as to be no obstacle to a lover
with a good horse; though I suspect, if the horse could speak, he would
wish the distance either less or greater. These midnight rides must be
detrimental to the constitution of any steady horse, and he often wakes
me up at night, pawing impatiently under the window while his master is
making his lingering adieux on the door-step.

"_April_ 1.--I dislike Eleanor more every day. I know not why, unless
because I watch her so closely. When Mr. Lee is not here she works as
industriously as ever. If I were in love, I would give myself up to a
dream or reverie now and then, and build myself an air-castle, if it
were only to see it tumble down, and call myself a fool for my pains;
but she is too matter-of-fact to do that. Well, if there is not much
romance about her love, perhaps there is more reality; yet Thornton Lee
is just the man one could make an ideal of, if one only would. But this
is not what I especially dislike her for; people must love according to
their own nature and temperament, and not after another's pattern. The
thing that frets me most just now is the way that Eleanor has of
divining my thoughts before they are spoken, and even before they are
quite clear to myself. Sometimes, when we are talking together, some
subject comes up on which I do not care to express my opinion. Eleanor
fixes her clear, penetrating eyes upon me, and drags my thought out
into the light, just as a kingfisher pounces upon and pulls a fish out
of the water. Had I anything to conceal, any secret, I should be afraid
of her; and as it is, I do not like this invasion of my personal
kingdom,--though my thoughts often acquire new strength and beauty from
Eleanor's strong and vigorous language. Last evening, Mr. Lee, Eleanor,
and myself were turning over the prints in a large portfolio. We paused
at one, the Departure of Hagar into the Wilderness. The artist had
represented Hagar turning away from the door of the tent with Ishmael
and the bottle of water; Abrah