Mari sat beside her, holding one of her hands in stricken silence. "Ts, ts!" was all she said, while Gwladys' tears flowed unrestrainedly.
"Poor Hugh! poor Hugh!" she said between her sobs; and Mari cried too, but softly.
"I have heard that once Hugh and thee were lovers, Mari?"
"Oh, in the old, old past, Gwladys. Now his heart is thine alone, and my only prayer is that he should be happy with thee. Dost believe me, merch i?"
"Yes, I believe all that is good of thee, Mari. Thou art an angel somehow straying on earth. Wilt be my guardian angel, and love me still, though I am so weak and sinful? Oh, why did not Hugh marry thee, instead of me? I believe in his heart of hearts he loves thee still, although he has been carried away by a sudden wind of passion. Yes—yes; there has been some terrible mistake," and she started to her feet almost wildly, "and it can never be set right—never, never, never!" And with the last word she flung herself down on the settle, crying bitterly.
Mari waited a moment in dazed silence.
"Art better, merch i?" she said at length, when the sobs began to grow less violent; and stooping down, and whispering so softly that not even the proverbial walls could hear, she said, "Now, no word of explaining; none is wanted between thee and me; we have been soul to soul together to-day. I know all thy secret, and I think thou knowest mine!"
Gwladys' lips moved in assent, but she seemed too broken down for more.
"Listen again," said Mari. "We are both women whose dream of happiness has been shattered; but there is still one thing which we can work for as long as life shall last—Hugh's happiness. Can we work together, Gwladys fâch? can we still be friends with these bitter secrets between us? It is for thee to settle."
Gwladys' only answer was to raise her arms and clasp them round Mari's neck, drawing her close to her in a long embrace, during which some silent tears were shed by both.