Desmond looked up as she entered to judge how the years had treated her. Older and more mature, but otherwise unaltered, he decided as he took her hand and shook it.
"You poor man! How pale you are!" she cried. "I only returned home last week to hear that you had been so desperately ill."
"The only home I have ever known. I have been miserable since I left it," she explained.
"He is impossible," she said. "I have done my utmost for him, but at last there came a time when I could not go on. We have separated."
"Custance cares for nothing now but that cursed drug. Oh, what a fool I have been," she almost moaned.
There came a painful silence, broken at last by her.
"But now I intend to return to the old life and the old friends. I shall forget the horror of what I have endured.... You will help me to forget?"
He was very weak and weary. As he watched her the old passion began to return to him. But it so happened that he looked towards a picture given him that very day by the old Jesuit Father. It was a simple painting of the Sacred Heart, with no attempt at artistic beauty. That very day, however, the old priest had spoken so eloquently of the mystery of love portrayed by that poor picture that Desmond valued it better than if it had been a treasure of art.
"I have done with the old life," he said.
"You fancy that now. But wait until you are strong and feel again the joy of life," she said. "Then you will alter your mind."
"Tell me about your trouble," he suggested.
"No. Not that, please. It is bad enough to have lived it. It was pure misery and hopelessness. I prefer to talk of anything but that."
They were still talking when Kathleen returned. She concealed the dismay and dread that she felt in finding Sylvia Custance with Desmond. She feared the old influence that had so vitally helped to ruin her brother's life and drive him from his Faith. At present he was weak in body, and like an infant in religion. The slightest obstacle might turn him again to his former state of doubt. At this critical stage Sylvia Custance was a great danger. But it flashed into her mind that Desmond must fight his own fight unaided. If he succumbed again it was not her fault. She could only pray for him.