"Doctor Benton says plain that he has never had such a beautiful case and one that promised so well," she wrote. "He says she's as strong as a young doe bounding about on the heather. What he holds is that it's natural she should be. He is a clever gentleman with some wonderful comforting new ideas about things, my lord. And he tells me I need not look forward with dread as perhaps I had been doing." Robin herself wrote to Coombe--letters whose tender-hearted comprehension of what he was doing always held the desire to surround him with the soothing quiet he had so felt when he was with her. What he discovered was that she had been born of the elect,--the women who know what to say, what to let others say and what to beautifully leave unsaid. Her unconscious genius was quite exquisite. Now and then he made the night journey to Darreuch Castle and each time she met him with her frank childlike kiss he was more amazed and uplifted by her aspect. Their quiet talks together were wonderful things to remember. She had done much fine and dainty work which she showed him with unaffected sweetness. She told him stories of Dowie and Mademoiselle and how they had taught her to sew and embroider. Once she told him the story of her first meeting with Donal--but she passed over the tragedy of their first parting. "It was too sad," she said. He noticed that she never spoke of sad and dark hours. He was convinced that she purposely avoided them and he was profoundly glad. "I know," she said once, "that you do not want me to talk to you about the War." "Thank you for knowing it," he answered. "I come here on a pilgrimage to a shrine where peace is. Darreuch is my shrine." "It is mine, too," was her low response. "Yes, I think it is," his look at her was deep. Suddenly but gently he laid his hand on her shoulder. "I beg you," he said fervently, "I _beg_ you never to allow yourself to think of it. Blot the accursed thing out of the Universe while--you are here. For you there must be no war." "How kind his face looked," was Robin's thought as he hesitated a second and then went on: "I know very little of such--sacrosanct things as mothers and children, but lately I have had fancies of a place for them where there are only smiles and happiness and beauty--as a beginning." It was she who now put her hand on his arm. "Little Darreuch is like that--and you gave it to me," she said. CHAPTER XXXVII