If it was bad they beat their breasts, if good they gave thanks.

Never was the sickbed of a monarch watched with more care or devotion than that of this little orphan, and never was a recovery--for at length she did recover--received with greater thankfulness and joy.
This was the truth.

These pure and simple men, in obedience to the strict rule they had adopted, were cut off from all the affections of life.

Yet, the foundation-stone of their doctrine being Love, they who were human must love something, so they loved this child whom they looked upon as their ward, and who, as there was none other of her age and sex in their community, had no rival in their hearts.

She was the one joy of their laborious and ascetic hours; she represented all the sweetness and youth of this self-renewing world, which to them was so grey and sapless.