She was standing behind him, so that he did not see her face. He did not turn round, or try to see it. He looked towards his wife, with a grave smile.
“I don’t think you ever told me in words.”
“No, because it is only a little while that I have been really glad; it is only since your coming has made me sure she is happier—far happier with you and Emily and Sandy, than ever we could make her now; almost as happy as she deserves to be.”
“I reckon, the happiness ain’t all on one side of the house, by a great deal,” said Mr Snow, gravely.
“No, I know that—I am sure of that. And I am glad—so glad, that it reconciles me to the knowledge that we can never be quite the same to her as we used to be, and that is saying much.”
“Ain’t you most afraid that it might hurt her to hear you say so?” said Mr Snow, his eyes never leaving his wife’s face. They were quite alone by this time. Will had obeyed the call of the children, and was gone away.
“No, I am not afraid. She knows I would not hurt her willingly, by word or deed, so you must let me say how very glad I am we lost her, for her sake. And when I remember all that she has lived through—all the sorrow she has seen; knowing her steadfast, loving, heart, and how little she is given to change, yet seeing her happy, and with power to make others happy, it gives me courage to look into the future; it makes me less afraid.”
His eyes left his wife’s face now, and turned, with a look of wonder, to Graeme.
“What is it, dear?” he asked. “Is there anything I may not know?”
“No. Only I am glad for Janet’s sake, and for yours, and for mine, too, because—”