For a
quarter of a century these passions had lain dormant, crushed
beneath the slow routine of daily duties; but these, in their
unvarying monotony, had, on the other hand, made that lapse of
years appear but as a few weeks, and kept the memory of those
stormy scenes fresher than that of the events that, one by
one, had crept into the convent life, and slowly modified its
dull course. The news of her brother's death had affected her
but little; but the sight of the familiar handwriting, the
very framing of the sentences and choice of words, which had
seemed to her like a fresh challenge even from his grave, had
revived a thousand passions, jealousies, enmities, which one
might have thought dead and buried for ever. What ghosts from
old years that Graham could not see, what memories from her
childhood and girlhood, what shadows from the old Paris life,
were thronging round Therese Linders, as with changed name and
dress she sat there in her convent parlour! Old familiar forms
flitting to and fro, old voices ringing in her ears, her
brother young, handsome, and indulged, herself plain,
unprepossessing, neglected, and a mother whom she had held to
and watched till the last, yet turning from her to the son who
had scorned her wishes and broken her heart.
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