Dowie was vaguely supported because the woman was an intelligent person and knew her business thoroughly. Nevertheless one must train one's eyes to observe everything without seeming to do so at all.
Every morning when the weather was fine Robin got up early and went out on the moor to say her prayers and listen to the skylarks singing.
"When I stand and turn my face up to the sky—and watch one going higher into heaven—and singing all the time without stopping," she said, "I feel as if the singing were carrying what I want to say with it. Sometimes he goes so high that you can't see him any more— He's not even a little speck in the highest sky— Then I think perhaps he has gone in and taken my prayer with him. But he always comes back. And perhaps if I could understand he could tell me what the answer is."
She ate her breakfast each day and was sweetly faithful to her promise to Dowie in every detail. Dowie used to think that she was like a child who wanted very much to learn her lesson well and follow every rule.
"I want to be good, Dowie," she said once. "I should like to be very good. I am so grateful."
Doctor Benton driving up the moor road for his daily visits made careful observation of every detail of her case and pondered in secret. The alarming thinness and sharpening of the delicate features was he saw, actually becoming less marked day by day; the transparent hands were less transparent; the movements were no longer languid.
"She spends most of the day out of doors when the weather's decent," Dowie said. "She eats what I give her. And she sleeps."
Doctor Benton asked many questions and the answers given seemed to provide him with food for reflection.
"Has she spoken of having had the dream again?" he inquired at last.
"Yes, sir," was Dowie's brief reply.