In the evening a change came over her. She did not pray. She collected the women of the neighbourhood, got an old drum and began to sing of the home-coming of warriors. The next morning she was taken ill. She told us that her end was near, and that she was not going to waste any more time talking to us. She lay peacefully in bed praying and telling her beads. Even before we could suspect, her lips stopped moving and the rosary fell from her lifeless fingers. The mood of this passage is best described as: