Her belief that it had come thence was nourished by testimony, the space of blackness wherein she had lived since, exhausting her last vitality in a simulation of infantile happiness, which was nothing other than the carrying on of her emotion of the moment of sharp sour sweet--such as it may be, the doomed below attain for their knowledge of joy--when, at the first meeting with her lover, the perception of his treachery to the soul confiding in him, told her she had lived, and opened out the cherishable kingdom of insensibility to her for her heritage.
She made her tragic humility speak thankfully to the wound that slew her.

'Had it not been so, I should not have seen him,' she said:--Her lover would not have come to her but for his pursuit of another woman.
She pardoned him for being attracted by that beautiful transplant of the fields: pardoned her likewise.

'He when I saw him first was as beautiful to me.

For him I might have done as much.' Far away in a lighted hall of the West, her family raised hands of reproach.

They were minute objects, keenly discerned as diminished figures cut in steel.