She thrust the letters aside, rose up and went and stood at the window.

But she was soon thinking again, and was only gazing into vacancy.
By and by she turned; her countenance had cleared; the dreamy look was gone out of her face, all indecision had vanished; the poise of her head and the firm set of her lips told that her resolution was formed.
She moved toward the table with all the old dignity in her carriage, and all the old pride in her mien.

She took up each letter in its turn, touched a match to it and watched it slowly consume to ashes.

Then she said: "I have landed upon a foreign shore, and burned my ships behind me.
These letters were the last thing that held me in sympathy with any remnant or belonging of the old life.

Henceforth that life and all that appertains to it are as dead to me and as far removed from me as if I were become a denizen of another world." She said that love was not for her--the time that it could have satisfied her heart was gone by and could not return; the opportunity was lost, nothing could restore it.