And when she had told it she turned her eyes to Gwenda with a look of subtle penetration and of triumph.
"At last," she said,—"After three years."
And she added, "I knew you would be glad."
"I am glad," said Gwenda.
She was glad. She was determined to be glad. She looked glad. And she kissed Mary and said again that she was very glad.
But as she walked back the four miles up Garthdale under Karva, she felt an aching at her heart which was odd considering how glad she was.
She said to herself, "I will be glad. I want Mary to be happy. Why shouldn't I be glad? It's not as if it could make any difference."
LVII
In September Mary sent for her again.
Mary was very ill. She lay on her bed, and Rowcliffe and her sister stood on either side of her. She gazed from one to the other with eyes of terror and entreaty. It was as if she cried out to them—the two who were so strong—to help her. She stretched out her arms on the counterpane, one arm toward each of them; her little hands, palm-upward, implored them.