te her breakfast_ and said she would take a walk with me.
And walk she did--stronger and better than I'd have believed. She had a
cup of tea and a glass of milk and a fresh egg and a slice of hot
buttered toast. That's what I hold on to, my lord--without any thinking.
I daren't write about it at first because I didn't trust it to last. But
she has wakened in the same way every morning since. And she's eaten the
bits of nice meals I've put before her. I've been careful not to put her
appetite off by giving her more than a little at a time. And she's slept
like a baby and walked every day. I believe she thinks she sees Captain
Muir every night. I wouldn't ask questions, but she spoke of it once
again to me.

"Your obedient servant,
SARAH ANN DOWSON."

Lord Coombe sat in interested reflection. He felt curiously uplifted
above the rolling sounds in the street and the headlines of the pile of
newspapers on the table.

"If it had not been for the tea and egg and buttered toast she would
have been sure the poor child was mad." He thought it out. "An egg and a
slice of buttered toast guarantee even spiritual things. Why not? We are
material creatures who have only material sight and touch and taste to
employ as arguments. I suppose that is why tables are tipped, and
banjos fly about for beginners. It's because we cannot see other things,
and what we cannot see-- Oh! fools that we are! The child said he was
not an angel--he was himself. Why not? Where did he come from?
Personally I believe that he _came_."

CHAPTER XXX

"It was Lord Coombe who sent the book," said Robin.

She was sitting in the Tower room, watching Dowie open the packages
which had come from London. She herself had opened the one which held
the models and she was holding a tiny film of lawn and fine embroidery
in her hands. Dowie could see that she was quite unconscious that she
loosely held it against her breast as if she were nursing it.

"It's his lordship's way to think of things," the discreet answer came
impersonally.

Robin looked slowly round the small and really quite wonderful room.

"You know I said that, the first night we came here."

"Yes?" Dowie answered.

Robin turned her eyes upon her. They were no longer hollowed, but they
still looked much too large.

"Dowie," she said. "He _knows_ things."

"He always did," said Dowie. "Some do and some don't."

"He _knows_ things--as Donal does. The secret things you can't talk
a