As Tembarom held to his bit of her dress, his eyes were adoring ones, which was really not to be wondered at. She WAS adorable as her soft, kind, wonderfully maternal girl face tried to control itself so that it should express only just enough to help and nothing to disturb. “I don't want him to spoil you. I don't want anything to make you--different. I couldn't bear it.” He pulled the bit of dress pleadingly. “Why, Little Ann?” he implored quite low. “Because,” she said, feeling that perhaps she was rash--“because if you were different, you wouldn't be T. Tembarom; and it was T. Tembarom that--that was T. Tembarom,” she finished hastily. He bent his head down to the bit of tweed and kissed it. “You just keep looking after me like that,” he said, “and there's not one of them can get away with me.” She got up, and he rose with her. There was a touch of fire in the forget-me-not blue of her eyes. “Just you let them see--just you let them see that you're not one they can hold light and make use of.” But there she stopped short, looking up at him. He was looking down at her with a kind of matureness in his expression. “I needn't be afraid,” she said. “You can take care of yourself; I ought to have known that.” “You did,” he said, smiling; “but you wanted to sort of help me. And you've done it, by gee! just by saying that thing about T. Tembarom. You set me right on my feet. That's YOU.” Before they went away they paid a visit to Strangeways in his remote, undisturbed, and beautiful rooms. They were in a wing of the house untouched by any ordinary passing to and fro, and the deep windows looked out upon gardens which spring and summer would crowd with loveliness from which clouds of perfume would float up to him on days when the sun warmed and the soft airs stirred the flowers, shaking the fragrance from their full incense-cups. But the white fog shut out to-day even their winter bareness. There were light and warmth inside, and every added charm of rich harmony of deep color and comfort made beautiful. There were books and papers waiting to be looked over, but they lay untouched on the writing-table, and Strangeways was sitting close to the biggest window, staring into the fog. His eyes looked hungry and hollow and dark. Ann knew he was “trying to remember” something. When the sound of footsteps reached his ear, he turned to look at them, and rose mechanically at sight of Ann. But his expression was that of a man aroused from a dream of far-off places. “I remember you,” he said, but hesitated as though making an effort to recall something. “Of course you do,” said Little Ann. “You know me quite well. I brought you here. Think a bit. Little--Little--” “Yes,” he broke forth. “Of course, Little Ann! Thank God I've not forgotten.” He took her hand in both his and held it tenderly. “You have a sweet little face. It's such a wise little face!” His voice sounded dreamy. Ann drew him to his chair with a coaxing laugh and sat down by him.