Sonia could see the very expressions of their faces as they would look up for direction to the sisters as they passed, lifting their meek and timid glances with an air of solemnity which in some instances struggled with a sense of pride in their unwonted paraphernalia. Somehow, the sight of so much ignorance, trust, and innocence, and the thought that each one of them possessed a woman’s heart, with all its capacity for suffering, for hoping, for loving, for regretting, absolutely overcame her. How ignorant they were of what lay before them! How fearlessly their little feet were entering upon the long journey of life, so blind to the pains and bitterness of its way! It seemed heartrendingly cruel to her, to think how they must suffer from the mere fact that each one of them was a woman-child. O God, that women had to suffer so!--that even love, the one delight, should bring in its wake such pain! She could see none of the joy ahead of these sweet children; she thought only of what her own heart suffered now--the regret, the longing, the unfathomable sadness, the blight, the disappointment, the despair! The passionate pain of her heart broke forth in violent sobbing as she stood between the parted curtains, fascinated by the lovely sight, but scarcely able to see it for her tears. “O God, have pity on them--have pity on them!” she sobbed aloud; and then, while her whole frame shook with her violent weeping, she suddenly became aware of the stealing on of a new influence. What was it? Nothing so definite as sight or sound, but something subtly powerful in its significance to her. It was the pungent odor of a certain kind of cigar which had once made part of the familiar atmosphere of her life. It dominated her now, as if by a spell. She was instantly calmed, and, as if by magic, swept back into the thrilling past. Then, suddenly, penetrating this familiar atmosphere, there came a familiar sound--no articulate utterance, but just a sound in the throat, which seemed somehow meant to challenge attention. She would have known that voice in the most distant and unlikely spot of earth; and now it became quite plain to her that Harold had returned, and was watching the scene opposite from his open window, scarcely a yard away. He must have heard her words and sobs! He must have understood them, he was so well practised in reading her heart. It had been an open book to him once, though now it must be forever locked and sealed.