She buried her face in her hands and moaned as she had not done since her mother left her just a few years before.

The girlhood in her was dead.

She was a woman.
The one great note had come to her, transforming her whole nature--love.
And the man she loved was being carried away to the misery and degradation of a convict.
Gradually the moans died away.

The convulsive heaving of her breast subsided.

A little later, when her sister Monica came in search of her, she found Angela in a dead faint.
By night she was in a fever..