The consequence was immediate, and her subdued tone and resigned action evinced the now entire supremacy of her natural temperament.
"Oh, forgive me, Guy, I know not what I ask or what I do.

I am so worn and weary, and my head is so heavy, that I think it were far better if I were in my grave with the cold frame whom we shall soon put there.

Heed not what I say--I am sad and sick, and have not the spirit of reason, or a healthy will to direct me.

Do with me as you will--I will obey you--go anywhere, and, worst of all, behold you wed another; ay, stand by, if you desire it, and look on the ceremony, and try to forget that you once promised me that I should be yours, and yours only." "You speak more wisely, Ellen; and you will think more calmly upon it when the present grief of your grandmother's death passes off." "Oh, that is no grief, now, Guy," was the rather hasty reply.

"That is no grief now: should I regret that she has escaped these tidings--should I regret that she has ceased to feel trouble, and to see and shed tears--should I mourn, Guy, that she who loved me to the last, in spite of my follies and vices, has ceased now to mourn over them?
Oh, no! this is no grief, now; it was grief but a little while ago, but now you have made it matter of rejoicing." "Think not of it,--speak no more in this strain, Ellen, lest you anger me." "I will not--chide me not--I have no farther reproaches.