She had suffered beyond utterance, but ever with a support which kept her from the last despair; of her anguish had come inspiration.

Now she felt herself abandoned of all spiritual good.

She came to loathe her life as a polluted stream.

The image of Wilfrid, the memory of her lost love, these grew to be symbols of her baseness.

It was too much to face those with whom daily duty brought her in contact; surely they must read in her face the degradation of which she was conscious.