it until he was ready
to speak; he need not fear that I should embarrass him. 'Men are strange
creatures,' I thought, as I rose, feeling tired in every limb, to put on
my bonnet; but, cast down and perplexed as I was, I would not own for a
minute that I was really miserable. My faith in Mr. Hamilton was too
strong for that; one day things would be right between us; one day he
would see the truth and know it, and there would be no cloud before his
eyes. I went rather sadly about my duties that day, but I was determined
that no one else should suffer for my unhappiness, so I exerted myself to
be cheerful with my patients, and the hard work did me good.

I was tired when I reached home, and I spent rather a dreary evening: it
was impossible to settle to my book. I could not help remembering how I
had called this a new day. As I prayed for Mr. Hamilton that night, I
could not help shedding a few tears; he was so strong, all the power was
in his hands; he might have saved me from this trouble. Then I remembered
that we were both unhappy together, and this thought calmed me; for the
same cloud was covering us both, and I wondered which of us would see the
sunshine first.

I do not wish to speak much of my feelings at this time: the old adage,
that 'the course of true love never runs smooth,' was true, alas, in my
case; but I was too proud to complain, and I tried not to fret overmuch.
Most women have known troubled days, when the current seems against them
and the waves run high; their strength fails and they seem to sink in
deep waters. Many a poor soul has suffered shipwreck in the very sight
of the haven where it would fain be, for man and woman too are 'born to
trouble as the sparks fly upward.'

Sometimes my pain was very great; but I would not succumb to it. I worked
harder than ever to combat my restlessness. My worst time was in the
evening, when I came home weary and dispirited. We seemed so near, and
yet so strangely apart, and it was hard at such times to keep to my old
faith in Mr. Hamilton and acquit him of unkindness.

'Why does he not tell me what he means? Do I deserve this silence?' I
would say to myself. Then I remembered his promise that he would speak
to me again about these things, and I resolved to be brave and patient.

I was longing to see Gladys, but she did not come for more than ten days.
And, alas! I could not go up to Gladwyn to seek her. This was the first
bitter fruit of our estrangement,--t