There was no reason left in her.

To her there was no reason left in anything if he were gone.

And if Keyork Arabian could not cure him, who could?
She knew now what that old prophecy had meant, when they had told her that love would come but once, and that the chief danger of her life lay in a mistake on that decisive day.

Love had indeed come upon her like a whirlwind, he had flashed upon her like the lightning, she had tried to grasp him and keep him, and he was gone again--for ever.

Gone through her own fault, through her senseless folly in trying to do by art what love would have done for himself.