And she in her turn had no answer to make.

She crept away into the corner behind the curtain, and there on her couch in the semidarkness she lay with strained heart, and a resurging, unconquerable tumult in her mind.

And she lay there from the middle of that afternoon until the next morning.
When she awakened she expected to be unable to rise--she hoped she could not--but life seemed multiplied in her, and inaction was impossible.

Something young and sweet and hopeful that had been in her did not greet the sun this morning.

In their place was a woman's passion to learn for herself, to watch events, to meet what must come, to survive.
After breakfast, at which she sat alone, she decided to put Isbel's package out of the way, so that it would not be subjecting her to continual annoyance.