In all this long, long time, no letter had come for Rose.

How she watched and waited for it; how she had strained her eyes day after day to catch sight of the postman; how her heart leaped up and throbbed when she saw him approach, and sank down in her breast like lead as he went by, only those can know who have watched and waited like her.

A sickening sense of despair stole over her at last.

They had forgotten her; they hated and despised her, and left her to her fate.

There was nothing for it but to go to the alms-house and die, like any other pauper.
She had been mad when she fancied they could forgive her.