Her own eyes had shed but few tears; she only wept on hearing those passages read which, by their promise of immortal life, were to her as mockery of her grief.
She did not venture to look into the grave's mouth she dreaded lest there might be visible some portion of her father's coffin.
Mrs.Baxendale, the Cartwrights, and one or two other friends had attended the funeral.

At Emily's request no one accompanied her home.
Mrs.Baxendale drove her to the door, and went on to Dunfield.
The last link with the past was severed--almost, it seemed, the last link with the world.

A sense of loneliness grew about her heart; she lived in a vast solitude, whither came faintest echoes of lamentation, the dying resonance of things that had been.

It could hardly be called grief, this drawing off of the affections, this desiccation of the familiar kindnesses which for the time seemed all her being.

She forced herself to remember that the sap of life would flow again, that love would come back to her when the hand of death released her from its cruel grip; as yet she could only be sensible of her isolation, her forlorn oneness.