nature was tired out, —­ till the frame subsided from convulsions that racked it, into weary repose, —­ so long the struggle lasted; and then the struggle was not ended, but only the forces on either side had lost the power of carrying it on.  And then she sat, leaning against a cedar trunk that gave her its welcome support, which every member and muscle craved; not relieved, but with that curious respite from pain which the dulled senses take when they have borne suffering as long and as sharply as they can.

It was hot in the sun; but only a warm breath of summer air played about Elizabeth where she sat.  The little waves of the river glittered and shone and rolled lazily down upon the channel, or curled up in rippling eddies towards the shore.  The sunlight was growing ardent upon the hills and the river; but over Elizabeth’s head the shade was still unbroken.  A soft aromatic smell came from the cedars, now and then broken in upon by a faint puff of fresher air from the surface of the water.  Hardly any sound, but the murmur of the ripple at the water’s edge and the cheruping of busy grasshoppers upon the lawn.  Now and then a locust did sing out; he only said it was August and that the sun was shining hot and sleepily everywhere but under the cedar trees.  His song was irresistible.  Elizabeth closed her eyes and listened to it, in a queer kind of luxurious rest-taking which was had because mind and body would have it.  Pain was put away, in a sort; for the senses of pain were blurred.  The aromatic smell of the evergreens was wafted about her; and then came a touch, a most gentle touch, of the south river-breeze upon her face; and then the long dreamy cry of the locust; and the soft plashing sound of the water at her feet.  All Elizabeth’s faculties were crying for sleep; and sleep came, handed in by the locust and the summer air, and laid its kind touch of forgetfulness upon mind and body.  At first she lost herself leaning against the cedar tree, waking up by turns to place herself better; and at last yielding to the overpowering influences without and within, she curled her head down upon a thick bed of moss at her side and gave herself up to such rest as she might.

What sort of rest?  Only the rest of the body, which had made a truce with the mind for the purpose.  A quiet which knew that storms were not over, but which would be quiet nevertheless.  Elizabeth felt that, in her intervals of half-consciousness.  But all the closer she clung to her pillow of dry moss.  She had a dispensation from sorrow there.  When her head left it, it would be to ache again.  It should not ache now.  Sweet moss! —­ sweet summer air! —­ sweet sound of plashing water! —­ sweet dreamy lullaby of the locust! —­ Oh if they could put her to sleep for ever! —­ sing pain out and joy in! —­

A vague, half-realized notion of the fight that must be gone through before rest ‘for ever’ could in any wise be hoped for —­ of the things that must be gained and the things that must be lost before that ‘for ever’ rest could in any sort be looked forward to, —­ and dismissing the thought, Elizabeth blessed her fragrant moss pillow of Lethe and went to sleep again.