But although she whispered to herself half aloud, "It can't—it can't be true," something spoke with more convincing power in the depths of her own spirit, and a sickening sense that the woman had spoken the truth stole over her, and well-nigh benumbed her faculties. She was too wretched to cry and sob, or indulge in any outward manifestation of sorrow, but her heart ached with a sense of desolation that well-nigh overwhelmed her.