The pang of her disappointment was so
keen, that she could not endure it. She remembered what had been said to
her in the place from whence she came, and how she had been entreated to
be patient and wait. Oh, had she but waited and been patient! She sat
down upon the ground, a soul forlorn, outside of life, outside of all
things, lost in a world which had no place for her. The moon shone, but
she made no shadow in it; the rain fell upon her, but did not hurt her;
the little night breeze blew without finding any resistance in her. She
said to herself, "I have failed. What am I, that I should do what they
all said was impossible? It was my pride, because I have had my own way
all my life. But now I have no way and no place on earth, and what I have
to tell them will never, never be known. Oh, my little Mary, a servant
in her own house! And a word would make it right!--but never, never can
she hear that word. I am wrong to say never; she will know when she is in
heaven. She will not live to be old and foolish, like me. She will go up
there early, and then she will know. But I, what will become of me?--for
I am nothing here, I cannot go back to my own place."
A little moaning wind rose up suddenly in the middle of the dark night,
and carried a faint wail, like the voice of some one lost, to the windows
of the great house.
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