she was judged to be by those who observed her at a distance, or heard from her only a chance remark, Such an observer, admiring but not approaching, saw at times the look of the sybil flash from beneath Margaret's heavy eye-lids; and once, hearing her sigh deeply after a social evening, was moved to ask her why. Alone, as usual!” was Margaret's answer, with one or two pathetic words, the remembrance of which brought tears to the eyes of the person to whom they were spoken.
In these days she wrote in her journal:—
"There comes a consciousness that I have no real hold on life,—no real, permanent connection with any soul I seem a wandering Intelligence, driven from spot to spot, that I may learn all secrets, and fulfil a circle of knowledge. This thought envelops me as a cold atmosphere."
From this chill isolation of feeling Margaret was sometimes relieved by the warm appreciation of those whom she had truly found, of whom one could say to her: "You come like one of the great powers of nature, harmonizing with all beauty of the soul or of the earth. You cannot be discordant with anything that is true or deep."
Other neighbours, and of a very different character, had Margaret in her new surroundings. The prisons at Blackwell's Island were on the opposite side of the river, at a distance easily reached by boat. Sing Sing prison was not far off, and Margaret accepted the invitation to pass a Sunday within its walls. She had consorted hitherto with the élite of her sex, the women attracted to her having invariably been of a superior type. She now made acquaintance with the outcasts in whom the elements of womanhood are scarcely
