She had sat there the whole night through, moaning sometimes, but speaking hardly at all.
Sleep had not come near her, yet she scarcely seemed to be awake.

Last night's shock had more than half shattered her senses, but it had flashed upon her mind a vision of her whole life.

Only half conscious of what was going on about her, she saw vividly as in a glass the incidents of those bygone years, that had lain so long unremembered.
The little cottage under Castenand; her old father playing his fiddle in the quiet of a summer evening; herself, a fresh young maiden, busied about him with a hundred tender cares; then a great sorrow and a dead waste of silence,--all this appeared to belong to some earlier existence.

And then the sun had seemed to rise on a fuller life that came later.

A holy change had come over her, and to her transfigured feeling the world looked different.