And one morning, when poor Sibyll stole out as usual to vend a month's labour, she was driven from door to door with oaths and curses.
Though Sibyll's heart was gentle, she was not without a certain strength of mind.

She had much of the patient devotion of her mother, much of the quiet fortitude of her father's nature.

If not comprehending to the full the loftiness of Warner's pursuits, she still anticipated from them an ultimate success which reconciled her to all temporary sacrifices.

The violent prejudices, the ignorant cruelty, thus brought to bear against existence itself, filled her with sadness, it is true, but not unmixed with that contempt for her persecutors, which, even in the meekest tempers, takes the sting from despair.

But hunger pressed.