_Clasping her package of letters and weeping_
Alone, alone, alone! My father’s present harshness gives more
loneliness to my heart than leagues of distance from my gentle brother.
And Hamlet, motive of my thoughts and acts, art thou worlds away or
nearer than an hour ago? I cannot tell. Love and cruelty so much
commingled in his words. I know not where I rest. I do not rest,--I am
at sea. O who can give me peace?