“I must confess it,” said Elizabeth, “for it’s true, of me.  I suppose, not of every one.”

“Then you cannot depend upon yourself.”

“Well, —­ I can’t.”

He smiled.

“On whom then?”

“On no one! —­”

And the blood sprung to her cheeks and the water to her eyes, with a sudden rush.  It seemed that circumstance was not the only thing too hard for her; feeling had so far the mastery, for the minute, that her head bent down and she could not at once raise it up.  Rufus walked off to the window, where he gave his attention to some greenhouse plants; Winthrop stood still.

“I would give anything in the world,” said Elizabeth, lifting her head and at first humbly and then proudly wiping her tears away, —­ “if I could learn self-control —­ to command myself.  Can one do it, Mr. Landholm? —­ one with whom it is not born?”

“I believe so.”

“After all, you can’t tell much about it,” said Elizabeth, “for it belongs to your nature.”

“No credit to him,” said Rufus returning; —­ “it comes of the stock.  An inch of self-control in one not accustomed to it, is worth more honour than all Governor’s, which he can’t help.”

“I wouldn’t give a pin for self-control in one not accustomed to it!” said Elizabeth; “it is the habitual command over oneself, that I value.”

“No let-up to it?” said Rufus.

“No; —­ or only so much as to shew in what strength it exists.  I am glad, for instance, that Washington for once forgot himself —­ or no, he didn’t forget himself; but I am glad that passion got the better of him once.  I respect the rest of his life infinitely more.”

“Than that instance?”

“No, no! —­ for that instance.”

“I am afraid you have a little tendency to hero-worship, Miss Elizabeth.”

“A very safe tendency,” said the young lady.  “There aren’t many heroes to call it out.”

“Living heroes?”

“No, nor dead ones, —­ if one could get at more than the great facts of their lives, which don’t shew us the men.”

“Then you are of opinion that ’trifles make the sum of human things?’”

“I don’t know what are trifles,” said Elizabeth.

“Dere is nozing is no trifle,” said Mr. Herder, coming in from the other room.  “Dere is no such thing as trifle.  Miss Elisabet’ hang her head a little one side and go softly, —­ and people say, ‘Miss Elisabet’ is sad in her spirit —­ what is the matter?’ —­ and you hold up your head straight and look bright out of your eyes, and they say, ‘Miss Elisabet’ is fiere —­ she feels herself goot; she do not fear nozing, she do not care for nozing.’”

“I am sure it is a trifle whether I look one way or another, Mr. Herder,” said Elizabeth, laughing a little.

“Ozer people do not think so,” said the naturalist.

“Besides, it is not true, that I fear nothing and care for nothing.”