l of both these allusions to her
faithless lover, but only a consciousness of mortification and wounded
pride was awakened by them. In fact, during the first tempest of her
indignation at his arrest, still later at the arrest of her father, and
finally at the discovery of his perfidy to her, she had forgotten that
he was her lover; she had forgotten her previous tenderness toward him;
and, now that her fire and indignation were spent, only a sense of
numbness and vacancy remained. All that had gone before seemed not
something to be regretted as her own act, but rather as the act of
another Thankful Blossom, who had been lost that night in the
snow-storm: she felt she had become, within the last twenty-four hours,
not perhaps ANOTHER woman, but for the first time a WOMEN.

Yet it was singular that she felt more confused when, a few moments
later, the conversation turned upon Major Van Zandt: it was still more
singular that she even felt considerably frightened at that confusion.
Finally she found herself listening with alternate irritability, shame,
and curiosity, to praises of that gentleman, of his courage, his
devotion, and his personal graces. For one wild moment Thankful felt
like throwing herself on the breast of Mistress Schuyler, and
confessing her rudeness to the major; but a conviction that Mistress
Schuyler would share that secret with Col. Hamilton, that Major Van
Zandt might not like that revelation, and, oddly enough associated with
this, a feeling of unconquerable irritability toward that handsome and
gentle young officer, kept her mouth closed. "Besides," she said to
herself, "he ought to know, if he's such a fine gentleman as they say,
just how I was feeling, and that I don't mean any rudeness to him;" and
with this unanswerable feminine logic poor Thankful to some extent
stilled her own honest little heart.

But not, I fear, entirely. The night was a restless one to her: like
all impulsive natures, the season of reflection, and perhaps distrust,
came to her upon acts that were already committed, and when reason
seemed to light the way only to despair. She saw the folly of her
intrusion at the headquarters, as she thought, only when it was too
late to remedy it; she saw the gracelessness and discourtesy of her
conduct to Major Van Zandt, only when distance and time rendered an
apology weak and ineffectual. I think she cried a little to herself,
lying in the strange gloomy chamber of the healthful