Never had she been kinder, more gentle.

Nay, as the walk went on a lovely gayety broke through her tranquil manner, as though she, like the others, had caught exhilaration from the sharpened breeze and the towering mountains, restored to all their grandeur by the storm clouds.
And yet she had started in some little inward trouble.

She had promised to join this walk to Shanmoor, she had promised to go with the others on a picnic the following day, but her conscience was pricking her.

Twice this last fortnight had she been forced to give up a night-school she held in a little lonely hamlet among the fells, because even she had been too tired to walk there and back after a day of physical exertion.
Were not the world and the flesh encroaching?
She had been conscious of a strange inner restlessness as they all stood waiting in the road for the vicar and Elsmere.

Agnes had thought her looking depressed and pale, and even dreamt for a moment of suggesting to her to stay at home.