unknown reality--were they founded upon? It was
curious how much one had begun to hear of telepathy and visions. He
himself had been among the many who had discussed the psychopathic
condition of Lady Maureen Darcy, whose black melancholia had been
dispersed like a cloud after her visits to a little sewing woman who
lived over an oil dealer's shop in the Seven Sisters Road. He also was a
war tortured man mentally and the torments he must conceal beneath a
steady professional calm had loosened old shackles.

"Good God! If there is help of any sort for such horrors of despair let
them take it where they find it," he found himself saying aloud to the
emptiness of the stretches of heath and bracken. "The old nurse will
watch."

* * * * *

Dowie watched faithfully. She did not speak of the dream, but as she
went about doing kindly and curiously wise things she never lost sight
of any mood or expression of Robin's and they were all changed ones. On
the night after she had "come alive" they talked together in the Tower
room somewhat as they had talked on the night of their arrival.

A wind was blowing on the moor and making strange sounds as it whirled
round the towers and seemed to cry at the narrow windows. By the fire
there was drawn a broad low couch heaped with large cushions, and Robin
lay upon them looking into the red hollow of coal.

"You told me I had something to think of," she said. "I am thinking now.
I shall always be thinking."

"That's right, my dear," Dowie answered her with sane kindliness.

"I will do everything you tell me, Dowie. I will not cry any more and I
will eat what you ask me to eat. I will sleep as much as I can and I
will walk every day. Then I shall get strong."

"That's the way to look at things. It's a brave way," Dowie answered.
"What we want most is strength and good spirits, my dear."

"That was one of the things Donal said," Robin went on quite naturally
and simply. "He told me I need not be ill. He said a rose was not ill
when a new bud was blooming on it. That was one of the lovely things he
told me. There were so many."

"It was a beautiful thing, to be sure," said Dowie.

To her wholly untranscendental mind, long trained by patent facts and
duties, any suggestion of the occult was vaguely ominous. She had spent
her early years among people who regarded such things with terror. In
the stories of her youth those who saw visions usually died or m