Till now, she had scarcely felt the full
bitterness of her father's death, or understood that the old,
happy, bright, beautiful life was at an end for ever. These
last days had been so full of excitement, she had been so
hurried from one new sensation to another, that she had not
had time to occupy herself exclusively with this great sorrow
that had fallen upon her; but there was nothing to distract
her now. Her father's death, which she had found so hard to
understand in the midst of everyday life and familiar
associations, she realized all too bitterly when such
realization was aided by the blank convent walls and the dull
convent routine; the sorrow that had been diverted for a
moment by another strong predominant feeling, returned with
overwhelming force when on every side she saw none but strange
faces, heard none but unfamiliar voices; liberty, and joy, and
affection seemed suddenly to have taken to themselves wings
and deserted her, and she was left alone with her desolation.
The child was half-crazed in these first days in the extremity
of her grief; the nuns tried to console her, but she was at
first beyond consolation.
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