Jane's delight was as simple as the language in which
she was wont to express herself. She felt infinitely more than
Pennyloaf, for instance, would have done under the circumstances;
but her joy consisted, in the main, of a satisfaction of pure
instincts and a deep sense of gratitude to those who made her life
what it was. She could as little have understood Sidney's mind at
this moment as she could have given an analytic account of her own
sensations. For all that, the two were in profound sympathy; how
different soever the ways in which they were affected, the result,
as they stood side by side, was identical in the hearts of both.
Sidney began to speak of Michael Snowdon, keeping his voice low, as
if in fear of breaking those subtle harmonies wherewith the night
descended.
'We must be careful not to over-tire him, He looked very pale when
he went upstairs. I've thought lately that he must suffer more than
he tells us.'
'Yes, I'm afraid he often does,' Jane assented, as if relieved to
speak of it. 'Yet he always says it's nothing to trouble about,
nothing but what is natural at his age. He's altered a great deal
since father came,' she added, regarding him diffidently.
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