All the light was above--all the light was peaceful and melancholy, from the moon.
She laid her face in that moonlight upon the window-sill, and covered it with her hands.

The low wind shook the leaves, and the trees rustled softly as if they whispered to her.

She heard them in her heart.

She knew what they were saying.

They sang to her of that other girl and her wishes, and struggles and prayers.
Then came the fierce, passionate, profuse weeping--the spring freshet of a woman's soul.
-- She heard a low knock at the door.