the walls tremble. Have you seen, Verry, any
work for me to do here?"

"Everything is changed. I have tried to be as steady as when mother
was here, but I cannot; I whirl with a vague idea of liberty. Did she
keep the family conscience? Now that she has gone I feel responsible
no more."

"An idea of responsibility has come to me--what plain people call
Duty."

"I do not feel it," she cried mournfully. "I must yield to you then.
You can be good.'

"I must act so; but help me, Verry; I have contrary desires."

"What do they find to feed on? What are they? Have you your evil
spirit?"

"Yes; a devil named Temperament."

"Now teach me, Cassandra."

"Not I. Go, and write Ben. Make excuses for my negligence toward you
about his letter. Tell him to come. I shall write Alice and Helen this
evening. We have been shut off from the world by the gate of Death;
but we must come back."

"One thing you may be sure of--though I shall be no help, I shall
never annoy you. I know that my instincts are fine only in a
self-centering direction; yours are different. I shall trust them.
Since you have spoken, I perceive the shadows you have raised and
must encounter. I retreat before them, admiring your discernment, and
placing confidence in your powers. You convince if you do not win
me. Who can guess how your every plan and hope of well-doing may be
thwarted? I need say no more?"

"Nothing more."

She left the room. There would be no antagonism between us; but there
would be pain--on one side. The distance which had kept us apart was
shortened, but not annihilated. What could I expect? The silent and
serene currents which flow from souls like Veronica's and Ben's, whose
genius is not of the heart, refuse to enter a nature so turbulent as
mine. But my destiny must be changed by such! It was taken for granted
that my own spirit should not rule me. And with what reward? Any, but
that of sympathy. But I muttered:

"'I dimly see
My far-off doubtful purpose, as a mother
Conjectures of the features of her child
Ere it is born.'"

The house trembled in the fury of the storm. The waves were hoarse
with their vain bawling, and the wind shrieked at every crevice of
chimney, door, and window. No answering excitement in me now! I had
grown older.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

A few days after, I went to Milford with father, to make some
purchases. I sought a way to speak to him about the future, intending
al