Then she turned upon Lily a smile of rare, considered sweetness, blended with great sadness. "I have forgiven—long, long ago. One can outlive such bitterness, my Lily, and come out from the vortex stronger, and bigger and braver."
Lily felt a mad desire to enquire whether the unfortunate rodent of Aunt Clo's history had also emerged from it similarly uplifted.
"There was a time," said Aunt Clo, "when I asked myself despairingly—'Does the road wind up-hill all the way?' You know the answer, child. 'Yes—to the very end.' I have accepted that answer now. Acceptance has long ago become part of myself. Not the pallid, passive acceptance of submission, you understand, but some bright, strong, vital thing that soars upwards like a flame——"
Aunt Clo paused again, and her niece kept silence.
"You mustn't call me brave, little one," Miss Stellenthorpe suddenly protested, when both had remained speechless for some while.
Lily showed no sign of defying the prohibition. Her aunt stood up.
"I will leave you. It grows late, and this has cost me something. But don't reproach yourself, bambina—if I can help you but a very little, be sure that I shall never count the cost."
Aunt Clo crossed the room slowly, with an unwonted gesture of supporting herself, as she reached a low table near the door and leant her hand upon it heavily.
She glanced back at Lily, and there was again a slight suggestion of baffled expectancy on her face.
"Buona notte, my child."