You were only clay, after all--the porcelain of human clay, perhaps, but very brittle stuff withal.

Trouble did come; the man you had made a sort of idol of, to whom you had given your whole heart, with a love so intense as to be sinful--this man abandons you.

The sister you have trusted and been fond of, deceives you, and you find that trouble is something more than a word of two syllables.

You have been very great, and noble, and heroic all your life, in theory--how do we find you in practice?
Why, drooping like any other lovelorn damsel, pining away without one effort at that greatness and heroism you thought so much of; without one purpose to conquer yourself, without one effort to be resigned to the will of Heaven.

You rebel against your father's marriage; everybody else ought to be lonely and unhappy because you are; the world ought to wear crape, and the light of the sun be darkened.