The memory of three years when her teeth had been set doggedly, on her discovery that she was chained to unhappiness for life; the memory of the abrupt end, and of her creeping away to let her scorched nerves recover.

Of how during the first year of this release which was not freedom, she had twice changed her abode, to get away from her own story--not because she was ashamed of it, but because it reminded her of wretchedness.

Of how she had then come to Monkland, where the quiet life had slowly given her elasticity again.

And then of her meeting with Miltoun; the unexpected delight of that companionship; the frank enjoyment of the first four months.

And she remembered all her secret rejoicing, her silent identification of another life with her own, before she acknowledged or even suspected love.