"That's it, my lord—beautifully—thank God. I've never seen a young thing bloom as she does and I've seen many."
The cart was at the door and he stood in the shadows of the hall when a slight sound made him look up at the staircase. It was an ancient winding stone descent with its feudal hand rope for balustrade. Robin was coming down it in a loose white dress. Her morning face was wonderful. It was inevitable that he should ask himself where she had come from—what she had brought with her unknowing. She looked like a white blossom drifting from the bough—like a feather from a dove's wing floating downward to earth. But she was only Robin.
"You awakened," he reproached her.
She came quite near him.
"I wanted to awake. Donal wanted me to."
She had never been quite so near him before. She put out a hand and laid it on the rough tweed covering his breast.
"I wanted to see you. Will you come again—when you are tired? I shall always be here waiting."
"Thank you, dear child," he answered. "I will come as often as I can leave London. This is a new planet."
He was almost as afraid to move as if a bird had alighted near him.
But she was not afraid. Her eyes were clear pools of pure light.