CHAPTER XXIII
All the heavy days are over.—W. B. Yeats.
It was very late when Magdalen and Fay reached home.
Bessie was on the lookout for them, and met them in the hall.
"Wentworth has been here," she said. "He arrived about an hour after you had started. As you were both out he asked to see me. He was greatly excited. He had come to tell us that Michael's innocence has suddenly been proved. He goes to Italy to-morrow. He said he would call here on his way to the station a little before eleven, to tell you both about it."
And punctually at a few minutes to eleven Wentworth appeared, and was ushered into the little white morning-room where Fay was waiting for him.
The room was full of sunshine. The soft air came gently in, bringing with it a breath of primroses.
Delight was in the room, tremulous, shining in Fay's eyes. Delight was in the whole atmosphere. An enormous boundless relief overflowed everything.
Wentworth was excited, softened, swept out of himself.
He held her soft hand in his. He tried to speak, but he could not. His eyes filled with tears. He was ashamed.