That night Helen pressed a wakeful pillow. She felt many years older than when she rose in the morning, for the experience of the day had been so oppressive. She could not realize that she had thought and felt and learned so much in twelve short hours. CHAPTER IX. "All other passions have their hour of thinking, And hear the voice of reason. This alone Breaks at the first suspicion into frenzy, And sweeps the soul in tempests."--_Shakspeare._ The day that Alice left, Helen felt very sad and lonely, but she struggled with her feelings, and busied herself as much as possible with the household arrangements. Mrs. Gleason took her into the chamber which Mittie had been occupying alone, and showed her every thing that had been prepared for her accommodation as well as her sister's. Helen was unbounded in her gratitude, and thought the room a paradise, with its nice curtains, tasteful furniture and airy structure. When night came on, Helen retired early to her chamber, leaving Mittie with Clinton. She left the light burning on the hearth, for the memory of the lonely spinster, invoking by her song the horrible being, who descended, piece-meal, down the chimney, had not died away. That was the very chamber in which Miss Thusa used to spin, and recite her dreadful tales, and Helen remembered them all. It had been papered, and painted, and renewed, but the chimney was the same, and the shadows rested there as darkly as ever. When Mittie entered the room, Helen was already in that luxurious state between sleeping and waking, which admits of the consciousness of enjoyment, without its responsibility. She was reclining on the bed, shaded by the muslin curtains, with such an expression of innocence and peace on her countenance, it was astonishing how any one could have marred the tranquillity of her repose. The entrance of her sister partially roused her, and the glare of the lamp upon her face completely awakened her. "Oh! sister!" she cried, "I am so glad you have come. It is so long since we have slept together. I have been thinking how happy we can be, where so much has been done for our comfort and luxury." "You can enjoy all the luxuries yourself," said Mittie, "and be welcome to them all. I am going to sleep in the next room, for I prefer being alone, as I have been before." "Oh! Mittie, you are not going to leave me alone; you will not, surely, be so unkind?" "I wonder if I were not left alone, while Alice was with you, and I wonder if I complained of unkindness!" "But _you_ did not care. You are not dependent on others. I am sure if you had asked me, I would have spread a pallet on the floor, rather than have left you alone." "Helen, you are too old now to be such a baby," said Mittie, impatiently; "it is time you were cured of your foolish fears of being alone. You make yourself perfectly ridiculous by such nonsense." She busied herself gathering her night-clothes as she spoke, and took the lamp from the table.