She felt herself already a wanderer in a land of tombs, where none could say whether morning had come or gone.

Intensely she looked her misery in the face; and it was as a voice that said, "No sun: never sun any more," to her.

But a blue-hued moon slipped from among the clouds, and hung in the black outstretched fingers of the tree of darkness, fronting troubled waters.

"This is thy light for ever! thou shalt live in thy dream." So, as in a prison-house, did her soul now recall the blissful hours by Wilming Weir.

She sickened but an instant.
The blood in her veins was too strong a tide for her to crouch in that imagined corpse-like universe which alternates with an irradiated Eden in the brain of the passionate young.
"Why should I lose him!" The dry sob choked her.
She struggled with the emotion in her throat, and Mr.Pole, who had previously dreaded supplication and appeals for pity, caressed her.
Instantly the flood poured out.
"You are not cruel.