cially lovely
specimen of the somewhat unreal young being with whom great agonies and
terrors had but little to do.

On a day when the Duchess had a cold and was obliged to remain in her
room Robin was with her, writing and making notes of instruction at her
bedside. In the afternoon a cold and watery sun making its way through
the window threw a chill light on her as she drew near with some papers
in her hand. It was the revealing of this light which made the Duchess
look at her curiously.

"You are not quite as blooming as you were, my child," she said. "About
two months ago you were particularly blooming. Lady Lothwell and Lord
Coombe and several other people noticed it. You have not been taking
your walks as regularly as you did. Let me look at you." She took her
hand and drew her nearer. "No. This will not do."

Robin stood very still.

"How could _any_ one be blooming!" broke from her.

"You are thinking about things in the night again," said the Duchess.

"Yes," said Robin. "Every night. Sometimes all night."

The Duchess watched her anxiously.

"It's so--lonely!" There was a hint of hysteric breakdown in the
exclamation. "How can I--_bear_ it!" She turned and went back to her
writing table and there she sat down and hid her face, trembling in an
extraordinary way.

"You are as unhappy as that?" said the Duchess. "And you are _lonely_?"

"All the world is lonely," Robin cried--not weeping, only shaking.
"Everything is left to itself to suffer. God has gone away."

The Duchess trembled a little herself. She too had hideously felt
something like the same thing at times of late. But this soft shaking
thing--! There shot into her mind like a bolt a sudden thought. Was this
something less inevitable--something more personal? She wondered what
would be best to say.

"Even older people lose their nerve sometimes," she decided on at last.
"When you said that work was the greatest help you were right. Work--and
as much sleep as one can get, and walking and fresh air. And we must
help each other--old and young. I want you to help _me_, child. I need
you."

Robin stood up and steadied herself somehow. She took up a letter in a
hand not yet quite still.

"Please need me," she said. "Please let me do everything--anything--and
never stop. If I never stop in the day time perhaps I shall sleep better
at night."

As there came surging in day by day bitter and cruel waves of war
news--stories of slaughter by la