She was aglow with it, and most grateful to Harry Feversham for that he had, at so much peril to himself, restored it.

She was conscious of a new exhilaration in the sunlight, of a quicker pulsation in her blood.

Her youth was given back to her upon that August afternoon.
Ethne unlocked a drawer in her dressing-case, and took from it the portrait which alone of all Harry Feversham's presents she had kept.

She rejoiced that she had kept it.

It was the portrait of some one who was dead to her--that she knew very well, for there was no thought of disloyalty toward Durrance in her breast--but the some one was a friend.
She looked at it with a great happiness and contentment, because Harry Feversham had needed no expression of faith from her to inspire him, and no encouragement from her to keep him through the years on the level of his high inspiration.