I was a little awed by the words and said nothing. All this had ceased for Alice--absolutely ceased--yet left a far sorer blank than if it had never been. As I looked at her, going on very hurriedly with her work, something I had been reading came to my mind. I said it aloud, watching her, and wondering if it was true-- "I hold it true whate'er befall, I feel it when I sorrow most; 'Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all." Alice turned round to me eagerly with a tear shining in her eye. "Don't you think I'd rather have been without them, Miss Hester; don't you think it now! it's hard to lose, but it's blessed to have; that's true--that's true! I would not have been without one, though they're all gone: I have read in books many a time, good books, books that were written on purpose to comfort the sorrowful," said Alice, sinking to her usual quietness of tone, "that God did but lend our treasures to us, to take them back at His pleasure. No, Miss Hester, no!--as sure as they are His, my darling, His first and His always, so sure do I know that He's keeping them for me." I was silenced again, and had nothing to say, for the name of God then was nothing but a sound of awe to me. I held it in the deepest reverence, this wonderful great name--but _Him_, the august and gracious Person to whom my poor Alice lived, her bereaved and pious life, was unknown to me. And Alice, I believe, had reproached herself already, for bringing her real griefs, or the shadow of them, to eclipse my cherished discontent. She returned to me with her face lighting up again in its cheerful kind humility. "Ay, Miss Hester, that's life to a woman," said Alice, "and, my dear, in a year or two, you will find it waiting for you." But this did not at all chime in with the current of my thoughts. "Do you think, Alice, that a woman is fit for nothing but to be married?" I exclaimed, fiercely. Poor Alice was taken by surprise: she had not expected such a flush of sudden displeasure--she paused in her work, and looked at my crimsoned face with a glance of real apprehension. Alice was old-fashioned and held by many primitive notions--she did not understand what I could mean. "Miss Hester, if it's the nuns you're thinking of, I'll break my heart," said Alice. "I'm not thinking of the nuns," cried I, indignantly, "why should a lady be married any more than Mr. Osborne? do you mean I could not be as well by myself as he is? I do not think you can have any woman-pride when you speak so, Alice." Alice smiled with her eyes when I made this speech, but kept her gravity otherwise. "To be like Mr. Osborne is nothing much to wish for, my dear," said Alice, quietly, "but I can tell you, Miss Hester, it is not Mr. Osborne's fault that he is living lone in his rooms, a college gentleman, instead of having his own house, and a happy family round him--if it had pleased God. Ah! if Mr. Osborne had been the man!"