They put her in a bath and washed her. The soap smelled so good that surreptitiously she got hold of the cake and nosed it like a young dog. They dried her in warm towels, and slipped a night-dress over her meagre shoulders. It was then, perhaps, that fingering the gossamer thing, taking up a bunch of stuff in her fist and slowly letting it go, in a dreamy wonder, she first began to realize that she was on the threshold of a new life. Not even the soft bed or the delicious chicken-broth that was brought later eclipsed the effect produced by the night-dress. It had embroidery and all sorts of blue ribbons--an epoch-making garment. Some time later, the maid, having drawn the curtains and smoothed her pillow and tucked her in, said: “If you want anything in the night, just touch that bell, and I 'll come to you.” Unity looked at her half comprehendingly. “Ring a bell? I should n't dare.” “Why?” “It's only missuses that ring bells.” “Those are Lady Blount's orders, anyway,” laughed the maid. “'Ere,” said Unity, with a beckoning finger. “What are they treating me like this for?” So might a succulently fed sailor have suspiciously interrogated one of a cannibal tribe. “How else would you want them to treat you?” asked the unpercipient maid. “You 've come down here to get well, have n't you?” She bent down and tied a loosened ribbon in a bow. “I declare if you have n't got on one of Miss Stella's nighties!” “Who is Miss Stella?” asked Unity. “Miss Stella?” The maid stared. To be in the Channel House and not know who Miss Stella was! “Miss Stella?” she repeated blankly. “Why, Miss Stella, of course.” The days passed quickly, and in the pure, strong air and under the generous treatment Unity began to mend. She also began to form a dim conception of Miss Stella. It was gradually borne in upon her mind that not only the household, but the whole cosmic scheme, revolved round Miss Stella. Sometimes they called her by another name, Stellamaris, which sounded queer, like the names of princesses in the fairy-tales they had given her to read. Perhaps this Miss Stella was a fairy-princess. Why not? Thus it came to pass that even in the darkened mind of this child of wretchedness Stellamaris began to shine with a lambent glow of mystery.