When the carriage drew up at last before the entrance to the castle, the Macaurs awaited them with patient respectful faces. They saw the "decent body" assist with care the descent of a young thing the mere lift of whose eyes almost caused both of them to move a trifle backward. "You and Dowie are going to take care of me," she said quiet and low and with a childish kindness. "Thank you." She was taken to a room in whose thick wall Lord Coombe had opened a window for sunlight and the sight of hill and heather. It was a room warm and full of comfort--a strange room to find in a little feudal stronghold hidden from the world. Other rooms were near it, as comfortable and well prepared. One in a tower adjoining was hung with tapestry and filled with wonderful old things, uncrowded and harmonious and so arranged as to produce the effect of a small retreat for rest, the reading of books or refuge in stillness. When Robin went into it she stood for a few moments looking about her--looking and wondering. "Lord Coombe remembers everything," she said very slowly at last, "--everything. He remembers." "He always did remember," said Dowie watching her. "That's it." "I did not know--at first," Robin said as slowly as before. "I do--now." In the evening she sat long before the fire and Dowie, sewing near her, looked askance now and then at her white face with the lost eyes. It was Dowie's own thought that they were "lost." She had never before seen anything like them. She could not help glancing sideways at them as they gazed into the red glow of the coal. What was her mind dwelling on? Was she thinking of words to say? Would she begin to feel that they were far enough from all the world--remote and all alone enough for words not to be sounds too terrible to hear even as they were spoken? "Oh! dear Lord," Dowie prayed, "help her to ease her poor, timid young heart that's so crushed with cruel weight." "You must go to bed early, my dear," she said at length. "But why don't you get a book and read?" The lost eyes left the fire and met hers. "I want to talk," Robin said. "I want to ask you things." "I'll tell you anything you want to know," answered Dowie. "You're only a child and you need an older woman to talk to." "I want to talk to you about--_me_," said Robin. She sat straight in her chair, her hands clasped on her knee. "Do you know about--me, Dowie?" she asked. "Yes, my dear," Dowie answered. "Tell me what Lord Coombe told you." Dowie put down her sewing because she was afraid her hands would tremble when she tried to find the proper phrase in which to tell as briefly as she could the extraordinary story.