At least none that could be distinguished through the trampling of the wind over the groaning old house.
She opened the door and went in.

A little figure was crouching over the dim fire, swaying itself to and fro.

It was Fay.
Magdalen put down her candle, and went softly to her, holding out her arms.
Fay raised a wild, wan face out of her hands and said harshly: "Aren't you afraid I shall push you away again like I did last time ?" Then with a cry she threw herself into the outstretched arms.
Magdalen held the little creature closely to her, trembling almost as much as Fay.
Outside the storm broke, and beat in wild tears against the pane.
Within, another storm had broken in a passion of tears.
Fay gasped a few words between the paroxysms of sobbing.
"I was coming to you, Magdalen,--I was trying to come--and I couldn't--I had pushed you away when you came before--and I thought perhaps you would push _me_ away--no--no--I didn't, but I said to myself you would.
I hardened myself against you.

But I was just coming, all the same because--because,"-- Fay's voice went thinner and thinner into a strangled whimper, "because I can't bear it alone any more." "Tell me about it." But Fay tore herself out of her sister's arms and threw herself face downwards on the bed.
"I can't," she gasped.

"I must and I can't.