That's what's the matter with HER," said Fanny Assingham.
It made a picture, somehow, for the Princess, as they stood there--the picture that the words of others, whatever they might be, always made for her, even when her vision was already charged, better than any words of her own.

She saw, round about her, through the chinks of the shutters, the hard glare of nature--saw Charlotte, somewhere in it, virtually at bay, and yet denied the last grace of any protecting truth.
She saw her off somewhere all unaided, pale in her silence and taking in her fate.

"Has she told you ?" she then asked.
Her companion smiled superior.

"_I_ don't need to be told--either! I see something, thank God, every day." And then as Maggie might appear to be wondering what, for instance: "I see the long miles of ocean and the dreadful great country, State after State--which have never seemed to me so big or so terrible.

I see THEM at last, day by day and step by step, at the far end--and I see them never come back.