ll the house.

"Does she think I am wicked?" was what was passing through Robin's mind
as the carriage climbed the moor through the rain. "It would break my
heart if Dowie thought I was wicked. But even that does not matter. It
is only _my_ heart."

In memory she was looking again into Donal's eyes as he had looked into
hers when he knelt before her in the wood. Afterwards he had kissed her
dress and her feet when she said she would go with him to be married so
that he could have her for his own before he went away to be killed.

It would have been _his_ heart that would have been broken if she had
said "No" instead of whispering the soft "Yes" of a little mating bird,
which had always been her answer when he had asked anything of her.

When the carriage drew up at last before the entrance to the castle, the
Macaurs awaited them with patient respectful faces. They saw the "decent
body" assist with care the descent of a young thing the mere lift of
whose eyes almost caused both of them to move a trifle backward.

"You and Dowie are going to take care of me," she said quiet and low and
with a childish kindness. "Thank you."

She was taken to a room in whose thick wall Lord Coombe had opened a
window for sunlight and the sight of hill and heather. It was a room
warm and full of comfort--a strange room to find in a little feudal
stronghold hidden from the world. Other rooms were near it, as
comfortable and well prepared. One in a tower adjoining was hung with
tapestry and filled with wonderful old things, uncrowded and harmonious
and so arranged as to produce the effect of a small retreat for rest,
the reading of books or refuge in stillness.

When Robin went into it she stood for a few moments looking about
her--looking and wondering.

"Lord Coombe remembers everything," she said very slowly at last,
"--everything. He remembers."

"He always did remember," said Dowie watching her. "That's it."

"I did not know--at first," Robin said as slowly as before. "I do--now."

In the evening she sat long before the fire and Dowie, sewing near her,
looked askance now and then at her white face with the lost eyes. It was
Dowie's own thought that they were "lost." She had never before seen
anything like them. She could not help glancing sideways at them as they
gazed into the red glow of the coal. What was her mind dwelling on? Was
she thinking of words to say? Would she begin to feel that they were far
enough from all the