Gilbert Grail was only a name to her, but he lived very vividly in her imagination.

Of course she had idealised him, as was natural in a woman thinking of a man who has been represented to her as full of native nobleness.

For him, as for herself, her heart was heavy.
She knew that he must return to his hated day-labour, and how would it now be embittered! What anguish of resentment! What despair of frustrate passion! She wished she could know him, and take his hand, and soothe him with a woman's tenderness.

His lot was harder than hers; nay, it was mockery to compare them.
Annabel rose, murmuring old words: ''Therefore I praised the dead which are already dead more than the living which are yet alive.

Yea, better is he than both they, which hath not yet been, who hath not seen the evil work which is done under the sun.''.