It was rather the olden horror stealing back upon her, the pain which comes from the slow grinding out of one's entire will and spirit.

She had forgotten the feeling, it was so long since it had been experienced, but one sight of him brought it back, and all the way from Frankfort to Spring Bank she lay upon Hugh's shoulder quiet, but sick and faint, with a shrinking from what the future might possibly have in store for her.
In this state of mind she reached Spring Bank, where by some strange coincidence, if coincidence it can be called, old Densie Densmore was the first to greet her, asking, with much concern, what was the matter.
It was a rare thing for Densie to be at all demonstrative, but in the suffering expression of Mrs.Worthington's face she recognized something familiar, and attached herself at once to the weak, nervous woman, who sought her bed, and burying her face in the pillow cried herself to sleep, while Densie, like some white-haired ghost, sat watching her silently.
"The poor thing has had trouble," she whispered, "trouble in her day, and it has left deep furrows in her forehead, but it cannot have been like mine.

She surely, was never betrayed, or deserted, or had her only child stolen from her.

The wretch! I cursed him once, when my heart was harder than it is now.

I have forgiven him since, for well as I could, I loved him." There was a moaning sound in the winter wind howling about Spring Bank that night, but it suited Densie's mood, and helped to quiet her spirits, as, until a late hour, she sat by Mrs.Worthington, who aroused up at intervals, saying, in answer to Densie's inquiries, she was not sick, she was only tired--that sleep would do her good.
And while they were thus together a convict sought his darkened cell and laid him down to rest upon the narrow couch which had been his bed so long.