As I flew panting up to my own room, I remember one feeling above all others, the first feeling of affection toward the house that I had ever had.

It was mine no longer, my home never again; I had no right to stay in it a moment: my own room was not mine any more--the room where I had learned to pray, and to try to lead a good life--the room where I had lain when I was so near to death--the room where Sister Madeline had led me to such peaceful, quiet thoughts.
I had but one wish now, not to see Richard, to escape Sophie, to get away forever from this house to which I had no right.

I pulled down my hat and my street things, and dressed so quickly, that I had slipped down the stairs, and out into the street, before they had ceased talking in the parlor.

I heard their voices, very low, as I passed through the hall.

I fully meant never to come back to the house again--not to be turned out.
My heart swelled as the door closed behind me.