Chapter 30 - Page 2

and was professionally exact, he had ceased to think of Robin
merely as a patient. She had touched him in some unusual way which had
drawn him within the circle of her innocent woe. He was under the spell
of her pathetic youngness which made Dowie herself feel as if they were
watching over a child called upon to bear something it was unnatural for
a child to endure.

"It won't stop," she said obstinately, but she lost her ruddy colour
because she was not sure.

But after the sewing began there grew up within her a sort of courage.
A girl whose material embodiment has melted away until she has worn the
aspect of a wraith is not restored to normal bloom in a week. But what
Dowie seemed to see was the lamp of life relighted and the first
flickering flame strengthening to a glow. The hands which fitted
together on the table in the Tower room delicate puzzles in bits of lawn
and paper, did not in these days tremble with weakness. Instead of the
lost look there had returned to the young doe's eyes the pretty trusting
smile. The girl seemed to smile as if to herself nearly all the time,
Dowie thought, and often she broke into a happy laugh at her own small
blunders--and sometimes only at the sweet littleness of the things she
was making.

One fact revealed itself clearly to Dowie, which was that she had lost
all sense of the aspect which the dream must wear to others than
herself. This was because there had been no others than Dowie who had
uttered no suggestion of doubt and had never touched upon the subject
unless it had been first broached by Robin herself. She had hidden her
bewilderment and anxieties and had outwardly accepted the girl's own
acceptance of the situation.

Of the incident of the sewing Lord Coombe had been informed later with
other details.

"She sits and sews and sews," wrote Dowie. "She sewed beautifully even
before she was out of the nursery. I have never seen a picture of a
little saint sewing. If I had, perhaps I should say she looked like it."

Coombe read the letter to his old friend at Eaton Square.

There was a pause as he refolded it. After the silence he added as out
of deep thinking, "I wish that I could see her."

"So do I," the Duchess said. "So do I. But if I were to go to her,
questioning would begin at once."

"My going to Darreuch would attract no attention. It never did after the
first year. But she has not said she wished to see me. I gave my word. I
shall never see her again unless she asks me to come. She does not need
me. She has Donal."

"What do you believe?" she asked.

"What do _you_ believe?" he replied.

After a