He became conscious that, though he would have been glad to question Dowie daily and closely, a certain reluctance of mind held him back. Also he realised that, being a primitive though excellent woman, Dowie herself was secretly awed into avoidance of the subject. He believed that she knelt by her bedside each night in actual fear, but faithfully praying that for some months at least the dream might be allowed to go on. Had not he himself involuntarily said, "She is marvellously well. We have nothing to fear if this continues." It did continue and her bloom became a thing to marvel at. And not her bloom alone. Her strength increased with her blooming until no one could have felt fear for or doubt of her. She walked upon the moor without fatigue, she even worked in a garden Jock Macaur had laid out for her inside the ruined walls of what had once been the castle's banquet hall. So much of her life had been spent in London that wild moor and sky and the growing of things thrilled her. She ran in and out and to and fro like a little girl. There seemed no limit to the young vigour that appeared day by day to increase rather than diminish. "It's a wonderful thing and God be thankit," said Mrs. Macaur. Only Dowie in secret trembled sometimes before the marvel of her. As Doctor Benton had imagined, she prayed forcefully. "Lord, forgive me if I am a sinner--but for Christ's sake don't take the strange thing away from her until she's got something to hold on to. What would she do-- What could she!" Robin came into the Tower room on a fair morning carrying her pretty basket as she always did. She put it down on its table and went and stood a few minutes at a window looking out. The back of her neck, Dowie realised, was now as slenderly round and velvet white as it had been when she had dressed her hair on the night of the Duchess' dance. Dowie did not know that its loveliness had been poor George's temporary undoing; she only thought of it as a sign of the wonderful change. It had been waxen pallid and had shown piteous hollows. She turned about and spoke. "Dowie, dear, I am going to write to Lord Coombe." Dowie's heart hastened its beat and she herself being conscious of the fact, hastened to answer in an unexcited manner. "That'll be nice, my dear. His lordship'll be glad to get the good news you can give him." She asked herself if she would not perhaps tell her something--something which would make the fourth time. "Perhaps he's asked her to do it," she thought. But Robin said nothing which could make a fourth time. After she had eaten her breakfast she sat down and wrote a letter. It did not seem a long one and when she had finished it she sent it to the post by Jock Macaur. * * * * *