the schoolroom, the drawing-room, or the shrubbery,
was equally forlorn, finding something to fear in
every person and place. She was disheartened by Lady
Bertram's silence, awed by Sir Thomas's grave looks,
and quite overcome by Mrs. Norris's admonitions.
Her elder cousins mortified her by reflections on her size,
and abashed her by noticing her shyness: Miss Lee
wondered at her ignorance, and the maid-servants sneered
at her clothes; and when to these sorrows was added the idea
of the brothers and sisters among whom she had always
been important as playfellow, instructress, and nurse,
the despondence that sunk her little heart was severe.

The grandeur of the house astonished, but could not console her.
The rooms were too large for her to move in with ease:
whatever she touched she expected to injure, and she
crept about in constant terror of something or other;
often retreating towards her own chamber to cry;
and the little girl who was spoken of in the drawing-room
when she left it at night as seeming so desirably sensible
of her peculiar good fortune, ended every day's sorrows
by sobbing herself to sleep. A week had passed in this way,
and no suspicion of it conveyed by her quiet passive manner,
when she was found one morning by her cousin Edmund,
the youngest of the sons, sitting crying on the attic stairs.

"My dear little cousin," said he, with all the gentleness
of an excellent nature, "what can be the matter?" And sitting
down by her, he was at great pains to overcome her shame
in being so surprised, and persuade her to speak openly.