He shook his head. "No, Jeanie, no!"
She was panting. He slipped his arm under the pillow to support her. She turned her face to his.
"Oh, Piers," she breathed, "I do—so—want you—to be happy."
"I am happy, sweetheart," he said.
But Jeanie's vision was stronger in that moment than it had ever been before, and she was not deceived. "You are not happy, dear Piers," she said. "Avery is not happy either."
Piers turned slightly. "Come here, Avery!" he said.
The old imperious note was in his voice, yet with a difference. He stretched his free hand up to her, drawing her down to his side, and as she knelt also he passed his arm about her, pressing her to him.
Jeanie's eyes were upon them both, dying eyes that shone with a mystic glory. They saw the steadfast resolution in Piers' face as he held his wife against his heart. They saw the quivering hesitation with which she yielded.
"You're not happy—yet," she whispered. "But you will be happy."
Thereafter she seemed to slip away from them for a space, losing touch as it were, yet still not beyond their reach. Once or twice she seemed to be trying to pray, but they could not catch her words.