The first miserable shudder of the thaw was upon her.
She glanced up at Magdalen, who was looking into the heart of the crocus, and a sudden anger seized her at the still rapture of her sister's face.

The contrast between her own gnawing misery and Magdalen's serenity cut her like a knife.

What right had Magdalen to be so happy?
Why should she have been exempted from all trouble?
What had she done that anguish could never reach her?
Fay's love for Magdalen, and at this time Magdalen was the only person for whom she had any affection--had all the violent recoils, the mutinous anger, the sudden desire to wound on the one side, all the tender patience and grieved understanding on the other which are the outcome of a real attachment between a bond woman and a free one.
The one craved, the other relinquished; the one was consumed with unrest, the other had reached some inner stronghold of peace.

The one was imprisoned in self, the other was freed, released.

The one made demands, the other was willing to serve.