Her friend the locust now and then was reminding her of the long hot day they had passed through together; and the intervals between were filled up by a chorus of grasshoppers and crickets and katydids.  Soft and sweet blew the west wind again; that spoke not of the bygone day, with its burden and heat; but of rest, and repose, and the change that cometh even to sorrowful things.  The day was passed and gone.  “But if one day is passed, another is coming,” —­ thought Elizabeth; and tears, hot and bitter tears, sprang to her eyes.  How could those clouds float so softly! —­ how could the light and shadow rest so lovely on them! —­ how could the blue ether look so still and clear!  “Can one be like that?” —­ thought Elizabeth.  “Can I? —­ with this boiling depth of passion and will in my nature? —­ One can —­” and she again turned her eyes within.  But nothing was there, save the table, the supper, and Karen.  The question arose, what she herself was standing there for? but passion and will said they did not care! she would stand there; and she did.  It was pleasant to stand there; for passion and will, though they had their way, seemed to her feeling to be quieted down under nature’s influences.  Perhaps the most prominent thought now was of a great discord between nature and her, between her and right, —­ which was to be made up.  But still, while her face was towards the western sky and soft wind, and her mind thought this, her ear listened for a step on the kitchen floor.  The colours of the western sky had grown graver and cooler before it came.

It came, and there was the scrape of a chair on the wooden floor.  He had sat down, and Karen had got up; but Elizabeth would not look in.

“Are ye hungry enough now, Governor?”

“I hope so, Karen, —­ for your sake.”

“Ye don’t care much for your own,” said Karen discontentedly.

Perhaps Winthrop —­ perhaps Elizabeth, thought that she made up his lack of it.  Elizabeth watched, stealthily, to see how the old woman waited upon him —­ hovered about him —­ supplied his wants, actual and possible, and stood looking at him when she could do nothing else.  She could not understand the low word or two with which Winthrop now and then rewarded her.  Bitter feeling overcame her at last; she turned away, too much out of tune with nature to notice any more, unless by way of contrast, what nature had spread about her and over her.  She went round the house again to the front and sat down in the doorway.  The stars were out, the moonlight lay soft on the water, the dews fell heavily.

“Miss Lizzie! —­ you’ll catch seven deaths out there! —­ the day’s bad enough, but the night’s five times worse,” —­ Clam exclaimed.

“I shan’t catch but one,” Elizabeth said gloomily.

“Your muslin’s all wet, drinchin’!”

“It will dry.”

“I can hang it up, I s’pose; but what’ll I do with you if you get sick?”