From the depths.

The next day was a wild, drifting storm.  My first waking thought in the early morning was the unpleasant one that my promised visit to Mrs. Le Grande must be made during the day.  When I raised my head from the pillow the pain was even more severe than on the previous evening, and a dizzy faintness seized me when I tried to rise.  I was so unaccustomed to sickness I had not learned the happy art of accepting patiently its behests; so, after a few more efforts, I succeeded in dressing myself.  I went to the window and, on looking out, was greatly relieved to see huge drifts piled between us and the outside world, which promised at least one day’s blockade unless Thomas and Samuel worked much harder than their wont.

I put in an appearance at the breakfast table, although the sight of food was exceedingly repugnant, and made a pretence to eat what was placed before me.  Mr. Winthrop very cheerfully announced that I was certainly a prisoner for that day—­an announcement I received with perfect indifference—­the mere thought of facing the outside world as I then felt made me shudder.  Probably he was surprised that I took with such extreme calmness my temporary imprisonment; for he asked if I enjoyed being snow-bound.

“I do, to-day,” I answered unthinkingly.

“You must have some special reason for such a state of mind.”

I did not attempt to reply, and was glad to find that his suspicions were not aroused.  After we arose from the table he stood chatting with us by the fire for some time, while Mrs. Flaxman with a little help on my part washed the china and silver, interjecting a word now and then with deep content.  I could see these genial moods of my guardian gave her unbounded satisfaction; sometimes when I looked in her gentle, patient face and remembered how few real joys she had in her daily life, I used to get positively angry with him, because, as a rule, he was so chary with his smiles and gracious words.  As he was leaving the room he turned to me and said:—­“I would like you to come to the library after you get those important partnership duties completed.”

“Do you mean our dish-washing?” I asked.

“Yes, certainly.  You seem to enjoy menial work very much.”

“It is woman’s work, Mr. Winthrop, just as much as painting pictures or studying German metaphysics is,—­a much more important work for me, if I marry a poor man and become my own maid of all work.”

“Ah, indeed! you think, then, of becoming one of them.  I mean one of your own favorite class.  I presume you have not yet selected the happy pauper whose poverty you intend to share.”

“Oh, no, I have not given the question of a husband, or settlement in life any serious thought as yet.  I was only supposing a case.  One never knows what may happen, and even royalties now and then are reduced to genteel beggary.”

“You are merely getting accustomed to the life, taking time by the forelock, we might say,” he said with an amused look.  “Well, since you are not altogether committed to that way of living, and in case your dreams are not realized, we will continue the German metaphysics a little longer.  I got in a fresh supply of books on Saturday.  I would like you to come and look them over with me.  You may see something you would like to take up.”