While it is not unusual to observe the survivors of a recently deceased person often forgetting that this person is no longer alive, especially in familiar surroundings, it is truly pathetic to observe the level of the two sisters' dependence on their father. It goes so far as to put doubts in their minds that burying their father is the right thing to do because the dead man himself would never approve of it and would never forgive them for it. The opening scene of the final chapter, however, serves as a wake up call for the sisters. The sounds of a barrel-organ, which their father detested, no longer need to be suppressed by giving money to the organist and asking him to go away. These sounds are a doze of reality to the sisters, a sign that their father is truly dead and is not coming back. The realization comes to both women almost simultaneously, when Constantia suddenly realizes that it has been a week since father died, and Josephine suddenly forgetting "to be practical and sensible" (111).
No longer burdened with serving their father, the two sisters let their minds wonder into a private territory that the rigid norms of their society do not allow them to access in 'normal' times - the territory of simple, impractical contemplating. It is through the thoughts of Josephine that the readers find out that the sisters were orphaned at a very young age and lived almost their entire lives without experiencing maternal care or the level of female influence that otherwise would have taught them how to use their natural abilities to their advantage. Josephine wonders, "How did one meet men? Or even if they'd met them, how could they have got to know men well enough to be more than strangers?" (113). Because of the wide separation in male and female roles of that society, the women's father could not teach them about these things, and neither could their aunt, who would not even live with them if she were married herself. But it is because of this time of youth, passion, and pleasure lost that Josephine feels the yipping of a sparrow coming out of her chest rather than from the outside. The yipping is no longer the sound of pleasure and freedom, but rather the "weak and forlorn" crying of a creature forever shut off from those experiences.
The situation is similar with Constantia, who recalls the time when father was alive as an unreal tunnel of constantly repeating activities, and that only in the light of the full moon or next to the expanse of the sea "that she really felt herself" (114). However, just like her sister, Constantia is so far gone from being able to experience these pleasures, of experiencing herself, that she aimlessly wonders why she feels that way in the moonlight or by the sea, and what those feelings mean. The final scene of the chapter leaves a dark impression on the readers, because in it, both women show not only their indecision and inability to take initiative, but also their inability to even form a coherent thought. This is where the norms of female behavior acceptable by a male-dominated society lead them.