Mrs.Bellairs had always groped feebly in heavy manacles through life, in a sort of twilight, but her approaching freedom seemed towards the last to throw a light, faint and intermittent but still a light, on much that had lain confused and inexplicable in her mind.

Many whispered confidences were poured into Magdalen's ears during those last weeks, faltered disjointed revelations, which cut deep into the sensitive stricken heart of the young girl, cutting possibly also new channels for all her after life to flow through.
Did the mother realise the needless anguish she inflicted on the spirit of the grave, silent girl of seventeen.

Perhaps she was too near the great change to judge any longer--not that she had ever judged--what was wise or unwise, what was large or small.

Trivial poisoned incidents and the deep wounds of life, petty unreasonable annoyances and acute memories were all jumbled together.

She had never sorted them, and now she had ceased to know which was which.