She was very tired, and hopeful that she might sleep.
And tired, hopeful, thinking of her lover, she passed through the woods, leaning on those who were nearest and most dear.
Somehow--and just why was not clear to her--it seemed at that moment as though she had passed the danger mark--as though the very worst lay behind her--close, scarcely clear of her skirts yet, but all the same it lay behind her, not ahead.
She knew, and dreaded, and shrank from what still lay before her; she understood into what ruin treachery to self might precipitate her still at any moment.

And yet, somehow, she felt vaguely that something had been gained that day which never before had been gained.

And she thought of her lover as she passed through the forest, leaning on Scott and Kathleen, her little feet keeping step with theirs, her eyes steady in the red western glare that flooded the forest to an infernal beauty.
Behind her streamed her gigantic shadow; behind her lay another shadow, cast by her soul and floating wide of it now.

And it must never touch her soul again, God helping.
Suddenly her heart almost ceased its beating.

Far away within, stirring in unsuspected depths, something moved furtively.
Her face whitened a little; her eyes closed, the lids fluttered, opened; she gazed straight in front of her, walked on, small head erect, lips firm, facing the hell that lay before her--lay surely, surely before her.