Was not the true sin this that she tried to accomplish--the slaying of the love which cried so from her inmost being?
Glimpses of the old faith began to be once more vouchsafed her; at moments she knew the joy of beautiful things.

This was in spring-time.

Living in the great seaport, she could easily come within sight of the blue line where heaven and ocean met, and that symbol of infinity stirred once more the yearnings for boundless joy which in bygone days she had taught herself to accept as her creed.

Supposing that her father had still knowledge of the life she led, would it make him happy to know that she had deprived herself of every pleasure, had for his sake ruined a future which might have been so fair?
Not thus do we show piety to the dead; rather in binding our brows with every flower our hands may cull, and in drinking sunlight as long as the west keeps for us one gleam.
She had destroyed herself.

Joy could arise to her from but one source, and that was stopped for ever.