How strange it was that she was always punished for keeping her word and acting up to her principles! She did not think this bitterly, only with utter hopelessness.

There was no use in her trying any longer; happiness was evidently not meant for her.

She must just accept things--and life, or death, as it came.

But how hard men were--she could never be so stern to any one for such a little fault, for _any_ fault--stern and unforgiving as that strange God who wrote the Commandments.
And then she felt her cheeks suddenly burn, and yet she shivered; and when her maid came to her, presently, she saw that her mistress was not only deeply grieved, but ill, too.

So she put her quickly to bed, and then went down to see Mr.Markrute.
"I think we must have a doctor, monsieur," she said.