She was subject to fits of hysteria, preceded and followed by the most painful collapse of that buoyant courage which was her supreme charm and the source of her influence.

Without warning, an inexplicable terror would fall upon her; like the weakest child, she craved protection from a dread inspired solely by her imagination, and solace for an anguish of wretchedness to which she could give no form in words.

Happily this illness afflicted her only at long intervals, and her steadily improving health gave warrant for hoping that in time it would altogether pass away.
Whenever an opportunity had offered for struggling successfully with some form of evil--were it poor Pennyloaf's dangerous despair, or the very human difficulties between Bessie and her husband--Jane lived at her highest reach of spiritual joy.

For all that there was a disappointment on her mind, she felt this joy to-night, and went about her pursuits in happy self-absorption.

So it befell that she did not hear a knock at the house-door.