her, but they seemed to enjoy making things hard for her! Not only
did they begrudge her a good time and white fox furs and everything,
but they wouldn't let her try to be a good influence to the world!
What was the use of renouncing earthly vanities for yourself if you
couldn't help others to renounce them, too? Of course there was a
certain pleasure, a kind of calm, peaceful satisfaction, an ecstasy
even, in letting the religious, above-the-world feeling take
possession of you. But it was selfish to keep it all to yourself. It
was your duty to pass it on, to do good works--to throw out the
life-line. And they begrudged her that--it wasn't right. Were all
parents as hard and cruel as hers?

She felt like crying; but, just then, she heard them coming up the
stairs. It would be difficult to explain her tears should one of
them look into her room on some pretext; so she jumped quickly into
bed. And, sure enough, she heard the door open. She shut her eyes.
She heard her mother's voice: "Are you asleep, dear?" Impossible to
divine that under that tender voice lay a stony heart! She emitted a
little ghost of a snore; she heard the door close again, very
softly.

For a while she lay quiet but she felt so unlike sleep that,
finally, she crept out of bed, groped for her blanket wrapper, and
went over to the window. It had stopped snowing and everything shone
palely in ghostly white. The trees were white-armed, gleaming
skeletons, the summerhouse an eerie pagoda or something, the
scurrying clouds, breaking now and showing silver edges from an
invisible moon, were at once grand and terrifying. It was all very
beautiful and mysterious and stirring. And something in her
stretched out, out, out--to the driving clouds, to the gleaming,