The wistaria ladder, the cloister of pines, the lonely cabin where Joan spent truant hours of peace, were to him things of infinite pathos.
And like the day in the garret, yesterday seemed aeons back.

He wondered why, conscious of a subtle, unforgettable sense of change in himself.

Something mysteriously had altered.
The memory of the pain and horror in his heart, he dismissed with a frown.

As Adam said, he never dwelt upon the things that failed to please him.

The pain was past.