She looked startled, but answered:
"I suppose it was he who shut the door hard when the lady in yellow made him angry."
"Yes," I said: "I suppose it was."
"He was very dark," Winifred went on, thoughtfully. "I think it was the same one who took me away. He was dressed all in black and he looked very sad. He took me by the hand and we went out of the house and through some streets, and then he put me before him on a horse and rode off. He was very kind and not at all angry that day."
"They say he is living, Winifred my child," I ventured. "Would you like to see him again?"
"Oh, yes!" she cried; "though perhaps he would be like a stranger; it is so very long ago."
"Niall believes you will see him yet," I continued; "so you ought to get accustomed to the idea. I used to know him, and he was noble and good and kind-hearted."
"You never told me before that you knew him," Winifred remarked, looking at me curiously.
"And yet I did, and he was all that I have said," I declared.
"But he does not care for me," said Winifred suddenly, "or he would not have gone away and left me."