Hitherto her life had been one of unceasing exertion and toil; from early dawn to late night she had been employed; her fatigues, however, great as they were, had been always allied with power. What she willed she could execute. Means never failed her, no matter how costly the experiment, to carry out her plans, and difficulty gave only zest to every undertaking. There is nothing more captivating than this sense of uncontrolled ability for action, especially when exercised by one of a warm and enthusiastic nature. To feel herself the life and spring of every enterprise, to know that she suggested and carried out each plan, that her ingenuity devised, and her energy accomplished all the changes around her, was in itself a great fascination; and now suddenly she was to awake from all this, and find herself unoccupied and powerless. Willingly, without a regret, could she abdicate from all the pomp and splendor of a great household; she saw troops of servants depart, equipage sold, great apartments closed up without a pang! To come down to the small conditions of narrow fortune in her daily life cost her nothing, beyond a smile. It was odd, it was strange; but it was no more! Far otherwise, however, did she feel the circumstances of her impaired power. That hundreds of workmen were no longer at her bidding, that whole families no longer looked up to her for aid and comfort,--these were astounding facts, and came upon her with an actual shock. “For what am I left here?” cried she, passionately, to Henderson, as he met each suggestion she made by the one cold word, “Impossible.” “Is it to see destitution that I cannot relieve,--witness want that I am powerless to alleviate? To what end or with what object do I remain?” “I canna say, miss,” was the dry response. “If it be to humiliate me by the spectacle of my own inefficiency, a day or a week will suffice for that; years could not teach me more.” Henderson bowed what possibly might mean an acquiescence. “I don't speak of the estate,” cried she, earnestly; “but what 's to become of the people?” “Many o' them will emigrate, miss, I've no doubt,” said he, “when they see there 's nothing to bide for.” “You take it easily, sir. You see little hardships in men having to leave home and country; but I tell you that home may be poor and country cruel, and yet both very hard to part with.” “That 's vara true, miss,” was the dry response. “For anything there is now to be done here, you, sir, are to the full as competent as I am. I ask again, To what end am I here?” Giving to her question a very different significance from what she intended, Henderson calmly said, “I thought, miss, it was just yer ain wish, and for no other reason.”