Her eye was caught by something lying on a sofa--something covered with a cloth. It looked almost like a child lying there asleep--so fast asleep that it did not stir at all. Judith moved across to the sofa and drew the cloth aside. With its head upon a cushion was lying there a very large doll, beautifully dressed in white lace, its eyes closed, and a little wreath of dead flowers in its hair. "It looks almost as if it had died too," said Judith. She did not ask herself why she said "as if it had died too"--perhaps it was because the place was so still--and everything so far away--that the flowers had died in the strange, little deserted garden on the roof. She did not hear any footsteps--in fact, no ghost of a sound stirred the silence as she stood looking at the doll's sleep--but quite quickly she ceased to bend forward, and turned round to look at something which she knew was near her. There she was--and it was quite natural she should be there--the little girl with the face like a white flower, with the quantity of burnished coppery hair and the smile which deepened the already deep dimple near her mouth. "You have come to play with me," she said. "Yes," answered Judith. "I wanted to come all night. I could not stay down-stairs." "No," said the child; "you can't stay down-stairs. Lift up the doll." They began to play as if they had spent their lives together. Neither asked the other any questions. Judith had not played with other children, but with this one she played in absolute and lovely delight. The little girl knew where all the toys were, and there were a great many beautiful ones. She told Judith where to find them and how to arrange them for their games. She invented wonderful things to do--things which were so unlike anything Judith had ever seen or heard or thought of that it was not strange that she realized afterwards that all her past life and its belongings had been so forgotten as to be wholly blotted out while she was in the Closed Room. She did not know her playmate's name, she did not remember that there were such things as names. Every moment was happiness. Every moment the little girl seemed to grow more beautiful in the flower whiteness of her face and hands and the strange lightness and freedom of her movements. There was an ecstasy in looking at her--in feeling her near. Not long before Judith went down-stairs she found herself standing with her outside the window in among the withered flowers. "It was my garden," the little girl said. "It has been so hot and no one has been near to water them, so they could not live."