"How dare you," she would ask herself--"how dare you show your weakness and betray your imbecile anxieties? Shake them off; rise above them. If you cannot do this, hide them."
And to hide them she did her best. She once more became resolutely lively in company. When weary of effort and forced to relax, she sought solitude--not the solitude of her chamber (she refused to mope, shut up between four walls), but that wilder solitude which lies out of doors, and which she could chase, mounted on Zo, her mare. She took long rides of half a day. Her uncle disapproved, but he dared not remonstrate. It was never pleasant to face Shirley's anger, even when she was healthy and gay; but now that her face showed thin, and her large eye looked hollow, there was something in the darkening of that face and kindling of that eye which touched as well as alarmed.
To all comparative strangers who, unconscious of the alterations in her spirits, commented on the alteration in her looks, she had one reply,--

How dare you betray your imbecile anxieties? Shake them off; rise above them - or else hide them."
And to hide them she did her best. She became resolutely lively in company. When weary of effort, she sought the wild solitude on Zo, her mare. She took long rides of half a day. Her uncle disapproved, but he dared not remonstrate, for her anger alarmed him.
Yet she still maintained,