He recognised Lord Findon, much aged and whitened in these last years.
The lady in deep mourning behind him paused a moment on the broad pathway, and looked round her, at the hill of the chateau, at the bright lights in the restaurant.

She threw back her veil, and Fenwick's heart leapt as he recognised the spiritual beauty, the patient sweetness of a face which through twelve troubled years had kept him from evil and held him to good--had been indeed 'the master light' of all his seeing.
And to his best and only friend he had lied, persistently and unforgiveably, for twelve years.

There was the sting--and there the pity of it..