Adela approached her.
‘Have you a room for the night?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘Will you—will you take my hand before you leave me?’ She held it forth; Emma, with eyes turned to the ground, gave her own.
‘Look at me,’ Adela said, under her breath.
Their eyes met, and at last Emma understood. In that grave, noble gaze was far more than sympathy and tenderness; it was a look that besought pardon.
‘May I come to you in the night to see if you need anything?’ Emma asked.
‘I shall need nothing. Come only if you can’t sleep.’
Adela lit the fire and began her night’s watching.