"Yes," he said. "And if it were not as I think it is, sheer imagination—if your grieving and fear really kept a fraction of her personality with you, to torment you both—let her go now, Alwynne. Say good-bye to her kindly, and let her go home."
She looked at him gravely for a moment. Then she turned from him to the empty house of flowers.
"Good-bye, Louise!" said Alwynne, simply as a child.
About them was the evening silence. The sun, sinking over the edge of the world, was a blinding glory.
Out of the flowers rose the butterfly, found an open pane and fluttered out on the evening air, straight into the heart of the sunlight.
They watched it with dazzled eyes.
CHAPTER XXXVI
Alwynne had gone to bed early. She confessed to being tired, as she bade her cousins good-night, and, indeed, she had dark rings about her eyes; but her colour was brilliant as she waited at the foot of the stairs for her candle. Roger had followed her into the hall and was lighting it. The thin flame flickered between them, kindling odd lights in their eyes.