“Which I have loved long since and lost awhile.”
“Good-night, Owen. Goodbye,” said Flora.
She left the room, and the Canon raised himself with difficulty from his low chair and said:
“I have some preparations to make for tomorrow. I will leave you for a little while.”
When he had gone, Owen felt the relaxation of his own mental tension.
For the first time, and with a sincerity that left him amazed, he found himself making use of the phrase that from others had so often aroused rebellion in himself:
“He is wonderful!”
Lucilla raised her eyes now, and looked full and gravely at Quentillian.
“Yes. I’m glad you see it at last, Owen.”
“At last?” he stammered, replying to her voice rather than to her words.