Mrs.Lessways, as simple in forgiveness as in wrath, did not disguise her pleasure in the remarkable fact that it was Hilda who had made the overture.

Hilda thought: "How strange I am! What is coming over me ?" She glanced at the range, in which was a pale gleam of red, and that gleam, in the heavy twilight, seemed to her to be inexpressibly, enchantingly mournful.

And she herself was mournful about the future-- very mournful.

She saw no hope.

Yet her sadness was beautiful to her.
And she was proud..