She knew that she must have lain some days in this state of unconsciousness, for the trees were greener than they had been when she had seen them last, and the sunlight was fast gaining its golden summer-like glow.

There was something exhilarating in the beauty and richness of reviving nature, and even Petronella's wan cheek kindled into a flush of pleasure as she looked forth once again upon the fair world around her dismal home.
Home?
no, that was no longer the word for it.

Slowly but surely the knowledge had come to her that Cuthbert had been right, and that this house could no longer be a home to her.

Right well did she credit now, what had never entered her mind before, that her father had brooded and brooded until his very mind had become unhinged.

He was not master of his words when he spoke to her as he had done upon that terrible night; he was not master of his actions when he had flung her away and left her lying unconscious on the stone floor.