sit in the room, to satisfy mother.”  It was impossible to refuse and I remained.  There was no chloroform then to give blessed unconsciousness of suffering and every pang had to be endured, but she more than kept her promise to “be good.”  Not a sound or a movement betrayed suffering.  She spoke only once.  After the knife was laid aside and the threaded needle was passed through the quivering flesh to draw the gaping edges of the wound together, she asked, after the first stitch had been completed, in a low, almost calm tone, with only a slight tremulousness, how many more were to be taken.  When the operation was over, and the surgeons were preparing to depart, she questioned them minutely as to the mark which would be left after healing.  I was surprised that she could think of it at such a moment, knowing how little value she had always set on her personal appearance, but her mother explained it afterward by referring to her betrothal to you, and the fear that you would find the scar disfiguring. [7]

In a letter to Mrs. Stearns, [8] she herself writes, Sept. 6: 

I had no idea of the suffering which awaited me.  I thought I should get off as I did the first time.  But I have a great deal to be thankful for.  On Wednesday, to my infinite surprise and gladness, George pounced down upon me from New York, having been quite cut to the heart by the account mother gave him.  Everybody is so kind, and I have had so many letters, and seen so many sympathising faces, and “dear Lizzy” sounds so sweet to my insatiable ears; and yet—­and yet—­I would rather die than live through the forty-eight hours again which began on Monday morning.  Somebody must have prayed for me, or I never should have got through.

An extract from another of her letters, dated Portland, September 11th, belongs here: 

I must tell you, too, about Dr. Warren (the old one).  When mother asked him concerning the amount he was to receive from her for his professional services, he smiled and said:  “I shall not charge you much, and as for Miss Payson, when she is married and rich, she may pay me and welcome—­but not till then.”  I told him I never expected to be rich, and he replied, with what mother thought an air of contentment that said he knew all about it:  “Well, we can be happy without riches,” and such a good, happy smile shone all over his face as I have seldom been so fortunate as to see in an old man.  As for the young one, he seemed as glad when I was dressed on Sunday with a clean frock and no shawl, as if it were really a matter of consequence to him to see his patients looking comfortable and well.  I am getting along finely; there is only one spot on my shoulder which is troublesome, and they ordered me on a very strict diet for that—­so I am half-starved this blessed minute.  We went to Newburyport on Monday, and stayed there with Anna till yesterday afternoon.  I think the motion of the cars hurt me somewhat, but by the time you get here I do hope I shall be quite well.