“Let Karen alone, and take care of your own business, Clam.”

“If I knowed what ’twas,” said the persevering damsel.  “I can’t make the beds, for there ain’t none; nor set the furnitur to rights, for the rooms is ’stressed empty.”

“You can let me alone, at all events.  The rooms will have something in them before long.  You know what to do as well as any one; —­ if you don’t, ask Mr. Landholm.”

“Guess I will!” said Clam; “when I want to feel foolisher than I do.  Did the furnitur come by the sloop?”

“No.  Mr. Landholm will send some.  I don’t care anything about it.”

“Ha! then if he’s goin’ to send it,” said Clam turning away, “the place ’ll have to be ready for it, I s’pose.”

Mrs. Nettley appeared in Clam’s place.  Elizabeth was still sitting on the door-step, and though she knew by a side view that one had given place to the other, she did not seem to know it and sat looking straight before her at the sunny landscape.

“It’s a beautiful place,” said Mrs. Nettley after a little pause of doubt.

“Very beautiful,” said Elizabeth coldly.

“I did not know it was so beautiful.  And a healthy place, I should suppose.”

Elizabeth left the supposition unquestioned.

“You are sadly fatigued, Miss Haye,” said Mrs. Nettley after a longer pause than before.

“I suppose I am,” said Elizabeth rising, for patience had drawn her last breath; —­ “I am going down by the water to rest.  Don’t let any one follow me or call me —­ I want nothing —­ only to rest by myself.”

And drawing her scarf round her, she strode through the rank grass to the foot of the lawn, and then between scattered rocks and sweetbriars and wild rose-bushes, to the fringe of cedar trees which there clothed the rocks down to the water.  Between and beneath them, just where she came out upon the river, an outlooking mass of granite spread itself smooth and wide enough to seat two or three people.  The sun’s rays could not reach there, except through thick cedar boughs.  Cedar trees and the fall of ground hid it from the house; and in front a clear opening gave her a view of the river and opposite shore, and of a cedar-covered point of her own land, outjutting a little distance further on.  Solitude, silence, and beauty invited her gently; and Elizabeth threw herself down on the grey lichen-grown stone; but rest was not there.

“Rest!” —­ she said to herself in great bitterness; —­ “rest!  How can I rest? —­ or where can there be rest for me? —­”

And then passionate nature took its will, and poured out to itself and drank all the deep draughts of pain that passion alone can fill and refill for its own food.  Elizabeth’s proud head bowed there, to the very rock she sat on.  Yet the proud heart would not lay itself down as well; that stood up to breast pain and wrestle with it, and take the full fierce power of the blast that came.  Till