Her memory gave her pictures, and the rest was feeling--dumb, even within.

She crouched upon the floor and leaned her head against the bedside.

Dry, trembling sobs came at intervals, passing over her as if some outside force had shaken and left her again; and sometimes, in the quiet of the interval, her lips smiled, but the darkness was around.

Then, at length, came tranquillity.

Her imagination, which had been strained to work at the bidding of memory, in weariness released itself from hard reality, and in a waking dream, touched, no doubt, into greater vividness by hovering hands of Sleep, she found temporary rest.