Recovery was very slow, and Edward suggested sending for Miss Ley, but Bertha refused. “I don’t want to see anybody,” she said; “I merely want to lie still and be quiet.” It bored her to speak with people, and even her affections, for the time, were dormant: she looked upon Edward as some one apart from her, his presence and absence gave no particular emotion. She was tired, and desired only to be left alone. All sympathy was unnecessary and useless, she knew that no one could enter into the bitterness of her sorrow, and she preferred to bear it alone. Little by little, however, Bertha regained strength and consented to see the friends who called, some genuinely sorry, others impelled merely by a sense of duty or by a ghoul-like curiosity. Miss Glover, at this period, was a great trial; the good creature felt for Bertha the sincerest sympathy, but her feelings were one thing, her sense of right and wrong another. She did not think the young wife took her affliction with proper humility. Gradually a rebellious feeling had replaced the extreme prostration of the beginning, and Bertha raged at the injustice of her lot. Miss Glover came every day, bringing flowers and good advice; but Bertha was not docile, and refused to be satisfied with Miss Glover’s pious consolations. When the good creature read the Bible, Bertha listened with a firmer closing of her lips, sullenly. “Do you like me to read the Bible to you, dear?” asked the parson’s sister once. And Bertha, driven beyond her patience, could not as usual command her tongue. “If it amuses you, dear,” she answered, bitterly. “Oh, Bertha, you’re not taking it in the proper spirit--you’re so rebellious, and it’s wrong, it’s utterly wrong.” “I can only think of my baby,” said Bertha, hoarsely. “Why don’t you pray to God, dear--shall I offer a short prayer now, Bertha?” “No, I don’t want to pray to God--He’s either impotent or cruel.” “Bertha,” cried Miss Glover. “You don’t know what you’re saying. Oh, pray to God to melt your stubbornness; pray to God to forgive you.” “I don’t want to be forgiven. I’ve done nothing that needs it. It’s God who needs my forgiveness--not I His.” “You don’t know what you’re saying, Bertha,” replied Miss Glover, very gravely and sorrowfully.