why.

She picked up the lantern, and moved to go; as she did so, the barn
door, lightly fastened, blew open. A rush of rain and wind swept in,
the smell of the wet earth, and the sight of the tossing trees, and
massed clouds that fled across the sky. For a moment she stood and
looked, hearing the wild night voices, the sob of the wet wind, the
rustle and mutter of the trees--those primitive inarticulate things
that do not lie. And in her heart she felt very weary of shams and
pretences, very hungry for the rest of reality and truth. She turned
away, and made the round of the barns systematically, and without
haste; she did not hurry past the resting-place of the blue daffodils,
they were safe from her now and always.

It was not till some weeks later that she saw, and not then without
also seeing it was quite impossible to disprove the proposition, that
there was something grimly absurd in the idea which had possessed her
that night--the thought of stealing to prove a lie, and acting
dishonourably to pay a debt of honour. At the time she did not think
at all, she acted on instinct only. Thank God for those dumb
instincts, making for righteousness, which, in spite of theologians,
are implanted somewhere in the heart of man.

So she went the rounds, fastened the barns, and came out of the last
one, locking the door after her. Outside, she stood a second, the rain
falling upon her bare head, the wind blowing her cloak about her. And
she did not feel triumphant or victorious, nor reluctant and
contemptuous of her weakness; only somehow apart and alone, and very,
very tired.