She was leaning against the Gothic window, and the lingering touch of long sun-fingers rested upon her head in comforting caress.
He spoke her name in a whisper. Her head turned slowly but she did not move. So often had he come to her at this time and, so often, faded back into the gloaming.
His shoulders relaxed as dawned the explanation for her dumb acceptance of his presence. He crossed the threshold with outstretched hands.
"My dear ... Oh, my dear..."
She crumpled up in his arms, not unconscious, but sick with shock.
The last red ray withdrew from the turret, leaving them in the gloom of a grave from which resurrection seemed very far away.
* * * * * *
The presence of Aunt B. made all the difference to the situation. She effaced herself and entertained John, but lent a more commonplace air to his visit than would have seemed possible, in the circumstances.
The erratic arrivals and departures of Lady Greville-Mainwaring's elderly aunt had ceased to be a matter for comment in the servants' hall. Jardine palpably respected her uncompromising utterances; John met her as an equal, and Cyprian and Ferlie, at peace in one another's companionship along the garden walks, passionately blessed her in their hearts. She had done wisely in warning Cyprian that Ferlie's appearance must startle him. She wore the look of some Inquisition victim whom the torturer's power had reduced to that exhaustion which ceases to feel. Instead of the limp body, incapable of further suffering, Ferlie betrayed a like condition of soul.
"Was this change of religion any use?" Cyprian asked her.