Maria began to be conscious of other and more vital seasons than those of the old earth on which she lived--the seasons of the human soul.

Along with her own unconscious and involuntary budding towards bloom, the warm rush of the blood in her own veins, she realized the budding progress of the baby.

When little Evelyn was put into short frocks, and her little, dancing feet were shod with leather instead of wool, Maria felt a sort of delicious wonder, similar to that with which she watched a lilac-bush in the yard when its blossoms deepened in the spring.
The day when Evelyn was put into short frocks, Maria glanced across the school-room at Wollaston Lee, and her innocent passion, half romance, half imagination, which had been for a time in abeyance, again thrilled her.

All her pulses throbbed.

She tried to work out a simple problem in her algebra, but mightier unknown quantities were working towards solution in every beat of her heart.