And then he began to puff wreaths of smoke from his long old pipe.
"Indeed, I do not wish, Cheiron," she said.

"Perhaps he is very unhappy now--we do not know--so we should only send him good thoughts to cheer him.

I dream of him often," she went on in a far-off voice, as though she had almost forgotten the Professor's presence, "and he cries to me in pain.

And I could not bear it that you should be thinking badly of him, and so I had to speak because thoughts can help or injure people--and now he wants all the gentle currents we can send him to take him through this time." The Professor coughed violently; his spectacles had grown dim.
Then Halcyone rubbed her soft cheek against his old withered hand.
"You knew it, of course, Master," she said very softly.

"I loved him always and I love him still--and, if I have forgiven any hurt which he brought me, surely it need not stand against him with you.