d over her soul.
She broke down utterly. Chetwynde Castle, the Earl, Mrs. Hart, all
were forgotten. The past faded away utterly. This only was her true
home--this place darkened by a cloud which might never be dispelled.

"Oh, papa! Oh, papa!" she moaned, and flung herself upon the bed
where he had breathed his last.

But her sorrow now, though overwhelming, had changed from its old
vehemence. This change had been wrought in Zillah--the old,
unreasoning passion had left her. A real affliction had brought out,
by its gradual renovating and creative force, all the good that was
in her. That the uses of adversity are sweet, is a hackneyed
Shakspeareanism, but it is forever true, and nowhere was its truth
more fully displayed than here. Formerly it happened that an ordinary
check in the way of her desires was sufficient to send her almost
into convulsions; but now, in the presence of her great calamity, she
had learned to bear with patience all the ordinary ills of life. Her
father had spoiled her; by his death she had become regenerate.

This tendency of her nature toward a purer and loftier standard was
intensified by her visit to Pomeroy Court. Over her spirit there came
a profounder earnestness, caught from the solemn scenes in the midst
of which she found herself. Sorrow had subdued and quieted the wild
impulsive motions of her soul. This renewal of that sorrow in the
very place of its birth, deepened the effect of its first presence.
This visit did more for her intellectual and spiritual growth than
the whole past year at Chetwynde Castle.

They spent about a month here. Zillah, who had formerly been so
talkative and restless, now showed plainly the fullness of the change
that had come over her. She had grown into a life far more serious
and thoughtful than any which she had known before. She had ceased to
be a giddy and unreasoning girl. She had become a calm, grave,
thoughtful woman. But her calmness and gravity and thoughtfulness
were all underlaid and interpenetrated by the fervid vehemence of her
intense Oriental nature. Beneath the English exterior lay, deep
within her, the Hindu blood. She was of that sort which can be calm
in ordinary life--so calm as to conceal utterly all ordinary workings
of the fretful soul; but which, in the face of any great excitement,
or in the presence of any great wrong, will be all overwhelmed and
transformed into a furious tornado of passionate rage.

Zillah, thus silent and