She stayed with him two or three hours, and then sat down to her embroidery-frame, still cold, and impassionate, and silent.

Father Francis came up in the evening; but she was cold and unsocial with him as with the rest of us.

So that first day ended, and so every day has gone on since.

What she suffers, she suffers in solitude and silence; only her worn face, haggard cheeks, and hollow eyes tell.

She goes through the usual routine of life with treadmill regularity, and is growing as thin as a shadow.