There was nothing unusual in the aspect of the place but that Robin was there and it was just midnight. She was not walking in her sleep. She was awake and standing by the table with the pamphlet in her hand. "I couldn't go to sleep," she said. "I kept thinking of the little things in this book. I kept seeing them." "That's quite natural," Dowie answered. "Sit down and look at them a bit. That'll satisfy you and you'll sleep easy enough. I must shut the window for you." She shut the window and moved a book or so as if such things were usually done at midnight. She went about in a quiet matter-of-fact way which was even gentler than her customary gentleness because in these days, while trying to preserve a quite ordinary demeanour, she felt as though she must move as one would move in making sure that one would not startle a bird one loved. Robin sat and looked at the pictures. When she turned a page and looked at it she turned it again and looked at it with dwelling eyes. Presently she ceased turning pages and sat still with the book open on her lap as if she were thinking not only of what she held but of something else. When her eyes lifted to meet Dowie's there was a troubled wondering look in them. "It's so strange--I never seemed to think of it before," the words came slowly. "I forgot because I was always--remembering." "You'll think now," Dowie answered. "It's only Nature." "Yes--it's only Nature." The touch of her hand on the pamphlet was a sort of caress--it was a touch which clung. "Dowie," timidly. "I want to begin to make some little clothes like these. Do you think I can?" "Well, my dear," answered Dowie composedly--no less so because it was past midnight and the stillness of moor and deserted castle rooms was like a presence in itself. "I taught you to sew very neatly before you were twelve. You liked to do it and you learned to make beautiful small stitches. And Mademoiselle taught you to do fine embroidery. She'd learned it in a convent herself and I never saw finer work anywhere." "I did like to do it," said Robin. "I never seemed to get tired of sitting in my little chair in the bay window where the flowers grew, and making tiny stitches." "You had a gift for it. Not all girls have," said Dowie. "Sometimes when you were embroidering a flower you didn't want to leave it to take your walk." "I am glad I had a gift," Robin took her up. "You see I want to make these little things with my own hands. I don't want them sent up from London. I don't want them bought. Look at this, Dowie." Dowie went to her side. Her heart was quickening happily as it beat. Robin touched a design with her finger. "I should like to begin by making that," she suggested. "Do you think that if I bought one for a pattern I could copy it?" Dowie studied it with care. "Yes," she said. "You could copy it and make as many more as you liked. They need a good many."