"My God, my God, it will break Emmy's heart," she said.
The father had forgotten the poor girl. She was lying, awake and unhappy, overhead. In the midst of friends, home, and kind parents, she was alone. To how many people can any one tell all? Who will be open where there is no sympathy, or has call to speak to those who never can understand? Our gentle Amelia was thus solitary. She had no confidante, so to speak, ever since she had anything to confide. She could not tell the old mother her doubts and cares; the would-be sisters seemed every day more strange to her. And she had misgivings and fears which she dared not acknowledge to herself, though she was always secretly brooding over them.

"My God, my God, it will break Emmy's heart," she said.
The father had forgotten the poor girl. She was lying awake and unhappy overhead. In the midst of friends, she was alone. Our gentle Amelia had no confidante; she could not tell her old mother her doubts and cares; the would-be sisters seemed strange to her. And she had misgivings and fears which she dared not acknowledge to herself, though she was always secretly brooding over them.
