His features shot the sparkle.
Rebecca Wythan had strength to press Carinthia's hand faintly.

She made herself heard: 'No pain.' Her husband sat upright, quite still, attentive for any sign.

His look of quiet pleasure ready to show, sprightliness dwelt on her.

She returned the look, unable to give it greeting.

Past the sense of humour, she wanted to say: 'See the poor simple fellow who will think it a wife that he has!' She did but look.
Carinthia spoke his name, 'Mr.Wythan,' by chance, and Rebecca breathed heavily until she formed the words: 'Owain to me.' 'To me,' Owain added.
The three formed a chain of clasped hands.
It was in the mind of the sick lady to disburden herself of more than her weakness could utter, so far was she above earthly links.