It was Hylda.
Something of the peace of Hamley had followed her to London, but the poignant pain of it had come also.

Like Melisande, she had looked into the quiet pool of life and had seen her own face, its story and its foreshadowings.

Since then she had been "apart." She had watched life move on rather than shared in its movement.

Things stood still for her.
That apathy of soul was upon her which follows the inward struggle that exhausts the throb and fret of inward emotions, leaving the mind dominant, the will in abeyance.
She had become conscious that her fate and future were suspended over a chasm, as, on the trapeze of a balloon, an adventurous aeronaut hangs uncertain over the hungry sea, waiting for the coming wind which will either blow the hazardous vessel to its doom or to safe refuge on the land.
She had not seen David after he left Hamley.

Their last words had been spoken at the Meeting-house, when he gave Faith to her care.