the night watch by rembrandt

the night watch by rembrandt
the Night Watch
The Nut Gatherers
The Painter's Honeymoon
daughter, she hoped she was not without a heart. She hoped no one could have said to her, "How could you be so unfeeling to your father?-- I must, I will tell you truths while I can." Miss Bates should never again--no, never! If attention, in future, could do away the past, she might hope to be forgiven. She had been often remiss, her conscience told her so; remiss, perhaps, more in thought than fact; scornful, ungracious. But it should be so no more. In the
oil painting
warmth of true contrition, she would call upon her the very next morning, and it should be the beginning, on her side, of a regular, equal, kindly intercourse. 　　 She was just as determined when the morrow came, and went early, that nothing might prevent her. It was not unlikely, she thought, that she might see Mr. Knightley in her way; or, perhaps, he might come in while she were paying her visit. She had no objection. She would not be ashamed of the appearance of the penitence, so justly and truly hers. Her eyes were towards Donwell as she walked, but she saw him not.