That is why he sings in the silence of the autumn dawn, before Memory closes her eyes, and again near sunset, when Memory wakes.
Still Rachel sat motionless.
She had labored with dumb unreasoning passion to forget, as a man works his hand to the bone night after night, week after week, month after month, to file through the bars of his prison.

She found at last that forgetfulness came not of prayer and fasting; that it was not in her to forget.

The past had seemed to stretch its cruel, desecrating hand over all the future, cutting her off from the possibility of love and marriage, and from the children whom in dreams she held in her arms.

As she had said to Hester, she thought she "had nothing left to give." But now the dead past had risen from its grave in her meeting with her former lover, and in a moment, in two short days and wakeful nights, the past relinquished its false claim upon her life.

She saw that it was false, that she had been frightened where no fear was, that her deliverance lay in remembrance itself, not in the handcuffs with which until now she had bound her deliverer.
Mr.Tristram had come back into her life, and with his own hands had destroyed the overthrown image of himself, which lay like a barrier across her heart.