鈥淲hat kind of imbecility are you talking?鈥? But after all her bitter trials and heavy blows, her eccentricity had developed so rapidly that it might fairly be called by a stronger name. At first she shut herself up in a private chamber, surrounded by the relics of happier days, and brooded sorrowfully over riding-whips, cricket-bats, and all manner of childish toys. Then she went to the other extreme; threw off her widow鈥檚 weeds and decked out in gay colours, and with a long white veil, drove about the country lanes in a carriage with grey horses, as though she were a newly-married bride. When Sir Rupert鈥檚 persecution had grown into a serious annoyance, she concentrated upon him all the aversion she had once levelled at more innocent objects of dislike. She never would have admitted him to the house, but as he would take no denial she consoled herself by throwing open all the windows and doors, whatever the weather, directly he had left the house, insisting that the place was unfit for habitation until it had been thoroughly aired. Then, saying his threats and menaces put her in bodily fear, she got into the habit of packing all her most treasured belongings in one or two trunks which she kept locked in her bedroom, under her own eye, in readiness as it were for immediate flight. Theobald looked black 鈥?he felt the waters of chanting rising higher and higher upon him inch by inch; but he felt also, he knew not why, that he had better yield than fight. So he ordered the 鈥淕lory be to the Father鈥?to be chanted in future, but he did not like it. 鈥淭hey all seem pretty happy,鈥?said Martin, not overpleased at his companion鈥檚 airy treatment of her family. He, himself, the loneliest of men, had found grateful warmth among the noisy, good-hearted crew of girls. It hurt him to hear them contemptuously spoken of. That we should need our resignation to remain!鈥? 综合自拍亚洲综合图区 Horatia. Begone this instant ... we shall want poultry. Wring every chicken鈥檚 neck in the yard, or I鈥檒l wring yours as sure as I stand here! [Exit Weasel.] 鈥楩ast roll the chariot wheels of Time. HE comes! So intense was the joy that it had a remarkable result. It appeared to take the same effect as a powerful stimulant upon her sinking strength. The very delight which she had in dying brought her back to life; the very rapture with which she desired to go kept her from going. In a circular letter to English friends, dated January 25, she again and more emphatically asserts her own non-expectation of death during the late illness: 鈥極n the worst day I talked Urdu, nothing else, from morning till night, to imaginary bibis. Almost every one thought me dying, except myself!... I asked the dear, kind, skilful doctor of my state; he did not know what to say, for he thought me sinking. I asked dear Mr. Weitbrecht, and he pointed his finger straight downwards. I quite understood, but did not believe myself dying for all that!鈥?This certainly was not the impression of those around her at the time, nor is it borne out by the things she said. No doubt she was striving to believe what she longed for,鈥攚as hoping that the doctors鈥?opinion, and not her own inner sense, might prove to be right.