She had turned suddenly away, burying her face in her hands upon the back of her own chair.
"Are there no miracles left in Heaven ?" she moaned, half whispering lest she should wake him.

"Is there no miracle of deeds undone again and of forgiveness given--for me?
God! God! That we should be for ever what we make ourselves!" There were no tears in her eyes now, as there had been twice that night.
In her despair, that fountain of relief, shallow always and not apt to overflow, was dried up and scorched with pain.

And, for the time at least, worse things were gone from her, though she suffered more.

As though some portion of her passionate wish had been fulfilled, she felt that she could never do again what she had done; she felt that she was truthful now as he was, and that she knew evil from good even as Beatrice knew it.

The horror of her sins took new growth in her changed vision.
"Was I lost from the first beginning ?" she asked passionately.