She read for the first time the Imitation of Christ and some of the meditations of Saint Bernard.

The true young soul, suddenly and tragically severed from the anticipation of womanly happiness, turned gladly to visions of saintly joy--simply and without affectation of form or show--purely and without earthly regret--humbly and without touch of taint from spiritual pride.

She had no burden to cast from her conscience, and she sought neither confessor nor director for the guidance of her thinking or doing.

Straight and undoubting, her thoughts went heavenwards, to lay before God's feet the sad, sweet offering of her own sorrow.
Without, in those dark winter days, storm drove storm over the ancient, evil city, rain followed rain, and gloom changed watches with darkness by day and night for one whole week, while the moon waned from the last quarter to the new.

And within, Matilde Macomer went about the house, when she left her room at all, like a great, pale-faced, black shadow of something terrible, passing words.