“She wants to see you,” she said, giving him her hand, and she added, for the joy of last night must find expression, “She knows everything. She followed me that day—and half guessed the truth—only half; I had to tell her all. And she has forgiven me—for everything.” Camelia bent her forehead against his shoulder and sobbed—“She is dying!—and she loves me!”
“My darling Camelia,” said Perior, putting his hand on her hair.
To Camelia the words could only mean that he forgave—and loved—as Mary did; but she felt the deep peace of truest union.
“Then she is dying in the sunshine, isn’t she?” he added, “not in that horrible darkness.”
“Yes—but such a cold, white sunshine. It is because she feels no longer. It is peace—not happiness; just ‘peace out of pain.’”
“And cannot we two doubters add, ‘With God be the rest’?”
“We must add it. To hope so strongly—is almost to believe, isn’t it? Come to her now.”
She left him at Mary’s door.
The nurse, with her face of hardened patience, rose as he entered.
“I will leave you with Miss Fairleigh, sir. Call me if I am needed.”