Anthony took the letter and promised to deliver it. “You’ve come back for good, haven’t you?” he asked. “Tell me,” she said. “You do know all about it, don’t you? Do you think we shall be able to? I do love it.” Anthony was silent for a moment. She was evidently hanging on his answer. “It’s possible,” he said, “with strict economy.” She laughed as though relieved. “Oh, that!” she said. “We’re used enough to that.” Matthew was blowing the furnace. The light from the glowing embers flickered round them. “You were born here, weren’t you?” she asked. “In the house adjoining, to be exact,” he answered with a laugh. “But this was my nursery. I used to sit on that very stool with my leg tucked underneath me watching my father work. I loved it when he blew the bellows and made the shadows dance. At least I expect it’s the same stool,” he added. “There was the figure of a gnome that a strange old fellow I once knew carved upon it.” She sprang to the ground and examined it. “Yes,” she said. “It is the same. He must have been quite clever.” She reseated herself upon it. Her feet just touched the ground. “I was born in Brazil,” she said. “Father had a ranch near Rio. But we left there before I was three. The first thing I can really remember is The Abbey. We must have come on a visit, I suppose, to Sir William. It was the long garden between the cloister walls that was my first nursery. I used to play there with the flowers and make them talk to me.” “I saw you there,” he said, “one afternoon.” She looked up at him. “When was that?” she asked. “Oh, one evening in September,” he said. “About two years ago.” He had spoken without premeditation and now felt himself flushing. He hoped she might think it only the glow from the furnace fire. “But we were in Florence,” she said. “I know,” he answered, flushing still deeper. “I asked old Wilkins when you had come back, and he thought I was mad.” “It is curious,” she answered gravely. “I dreamed one day that I was walking there and met your namesake, Anthony the Monk. He was standing by the wicket gate on the very spot where he was slain. He called to me, but I was frightened and hid myself among the flowers.” Anthony was interested. “Who was the Monk Anthony?” he asked.