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went up and down the broad paths, and spoke of all
that met their eyes, of the grass and the birds in
the sky.
“See! there goes a heart and sighs with sadness
because it has never been so happy before.”
And it struck her suddenly that perhaps it all lay
with one’s self, that joy and sorrow depended on
the different ways of looking at things. She asked
herself if it had been joy or sorrow that had
overwhelmed her that year. She hardly knew herself.
She had lived through bitter trials, her very soul
had sufFered. She had been crushed to the earth in
abasement, and when she came back to her home,
she had said to herself, “I will not remember
anything ill of my father;” but her heart would not
consent. “He has drawn down such dreadful sor-
row upon me,” it said; “he has separated me from
the man I loved; he brought me to despair, when
he beat my mother. I bear no ill-will toward him,
but I fear him.”
She noticed that she was obliged to force herself
to sit still, when her father came and sat down
beside her. She longed to flee from him. She tried to
master herself, she talked to him as usual, and was
constantly with him. She could control herself, but
she suffered inexpressibly.
She finished by detesting everything about him—his
coarse, loud voice, his heavy tread, his large
hands, all the powerful, belligerent temperament.
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