"What right have you to expect that existence should prove one continued gala-season? When Christ went down meekly into Gethsemane, that such as you and I might win a place in the Eternal City, how dare you demand exemption from grief and pain, that Jesus, your God, did not spare Himself? Are you purer than Christ, and wiser than the Almighty, that you impiously deride and question their code for the government of the Universe, in which individual lives seem trivial as the sands of the desert, or the leaves of the forest? Oh! it is pitiable, indeed, to see some worm writhing in the dust, and blasphemously dictating laws to Him who swung suns and asterisms in space, and breathed into its own feeble fragment of clay the spark that enabled it to insult its God. Put away such unwomanly scoffing,--such irreverent puerilities; sweep your soul clean of all such wretched rubbish, and when you feel tempted to repine at your lot, recollect the noble admonition of Dschelaleddin, 'If this world were our abiding-place, we might complain that it makes our bed so hard; but it is only our night-quarters on a journey, and who can expect home comforts?'" "I can not feel resigned to my lot. It is too hard,--too unjust." "Mrs. Gerome, are you more just and prescient than Jehovah?" She passed her thin hand across her face, and was silent, for his voice and manner awed her. After a little while, she sat erect in her chair, and tried to rise. "Doctor, if you could look down into the gray ruins of my heart, you would not reprove me so harshly. My whole being seems in some cold eclipse, and my soul is like the Sistine Chapel in Passion-week, where all is shrouded in shadow, and no sounds are heard but Misereres and Tenebrae." "Promise me that in future you will try to keep it like that Christian temple, pure and inviolate from all imprecations and rebellious words. If gloom there must be, see to it that resignation seals your lips. What are you trying to do? You are not strong enough to walk alone." "I want to go into the parlor,--I want my piano. Yesterday I attempted to cross the room, and only Katie's presence saved me from a severe fall." She stood by her chair, grasping the carved back, and Dr. Grey stepped forward, and drew her arm under his. In her great weakness she leaned upon him, and when they reached the parlor door, she paused and almost panted. "You must not attempt to play,--you are too feeble even to sit up longer. Let me take you back to your room." "No,--no! Let me alone. I know best what is good for me; and I tell you my piano is my only Paraclete." Holding his arm for support, she drew a chair instead of the piano-stool to the instrument, and seated herself. Dr. Grey raised the lid, and waited some seconds, expecting her to play, but she sat still and mute, and presently he stooped to catch a glimpse of her countenance. "I want to see Elsie's grave. Open the blinds." He threw open the shutters, and came back to the piano.