s quite exquisite.

Now and then he made the night journey to Darreuch Castle and each time
she met him with her frank childlike kiss he was more amazed and
uplifted by her aspect. Their quiet talks together were wonderful things
to remember. She had done much fine and dainty work which she showed him
with unaffected sweetness. She told him stories of Dowie and
Mademoiselle and how they had taught her to sew and embroider. Once she
told him the story of her first meeting with Donal--but she passed over
the tragedy of their first parting.

"It was too sad," she said.

He noticed that she never spoke of sad and dark hours. He was convinced
that she purposely avoided them and he was profoundly glad.

"I know," she said once, "that you do not want me to talk to you about
the War."

"Thank you for knowing it," he answered. "I come here on a pilgrimage to
a shrine where peace is. Darreuch is my shrine."

"It is mine, too," was her low response.

"Yes, I think it is," his look at her was deep. Suddenly but gently he
laid his hand on her shoulder.

"I beg you," he said fervently, "I _beg_ you never to allow yourself to
think of it. Blot the accursed thing out of the Universe while--you are
here. For you there must be no war."

"How kind his face looked," was Robin's thought as he hesitated a
second and then went on:

"I know very little of such--sacrosanct things as mothers and children,
but lately I have had fancies of a place for them where there are only
smiles and happiness and beauty--as a beginning."

It was she who now put her hand on his arm. "Little Darreuch is like
that--and you gave it to me," she said.

CHAPTER XXXVII

Lord Coombe was ushered into the little drawing-room by an extremely
immature young footman who--doubtless as a consequence of his
immaturity--appeared upon the scene too suddenly. The War left one only
servants who were idiots or barely out of Board Schools, Feather said.
And in fact it was something suggesting "a scene" upon which Coombe was
announced. The athletic and personable young actor--entitled upon
programmes Owen Delamore--was striding to and fro talking excitedly.
There was theatrical emotion in the air and Feather, delicately flushed
and elate, was listening with an air half frightened, half pleased. The
immaturity of the footman immediately took fright and the youth turning
at once produced the fatal effect of fleeing precipitately.

Mr. Owen Delamore suddenly