She liked it all, and the first sensation of peace and rest she had felt all these months stole into her heart here.
And yet it had done her a world of good--she was a new being--outwardly at least--although her heart felt as mute and still as ever.

Her life's shipwreck had been so sudden and so dreadful, she had been so stunned and stupefied at first, and the after-anguish so horribly bitter, that this haven of rest was as grateful as some green island of the sea to a shipwrecked mariner.

Here there was nothing to remind her of all that was past and gone--here, where everything was new, her poor bruised heart might heal.
Captain Danton saw and thanked Heaven gratefully for the blessed change in the daughter he loved, and yet she was not the Kate of old.

All the youth and joyousness of life's springtime was gone.

She sang no more the songs he loved; they were dead and buried in the dead past; her clear laugh never rejoiced his heart now; her fleeting smile came cold and pale as moonlight, on snow.