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So Scarface told her about the beautiful girl that he wished to marry and said, "She belongs to the Sun. I have come to ask him for her." He is plainly surprised. He is indeed glad. His face changes, as if by magic, from sullen gloom to pleasurable anticipation. Together they went from the lodges toward the north. The sun was already hidden behind the nearby hills..

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A strange scene presents itself to their expectant gaze. Before them is a large room (if so it can be called), possessed of no flooring but the bare brown earth that Mother Nature has supplied. To their right is a huge fireplace, where, upon the hearthstone, turf lies burning dimly, emitting the strong aromatic perfume that belongs to it. Near it crouches an old woman with her blue-checked apron thrown above her head, who rocks herself to and fro in silent grief, and with every long-drawn breath—that seems to break from her breast like a stormy wave upon a desert shore—brings her old withered palms together with a gesture indicative of despair. "Fancy a turkey ghost," says Mona. "How ugly it would be. It would have all its feathers off, of course." "We have all to do that at times," says Sir Nicholas. "And there is another person, mother, I shall be glad if you will send a card to." A passionate admiration for her beauty and purity fills his breast: he could have fallen at her feet and cried aloud to her to take pity upon him, to let some loving thought for him—even him too—enter and find fruitful soil within her heart..