othed merely in the fading light, she remembered
distinctly that she was neither surprised nor alarmed. The diminutive
lady sat down beside her and took Mrs. Arlington's hands in both her
own. She spoke in a strange language, but Mrs. Arlington at the time
understood it, though now the meaning of it had passed from her. Mrs.
Arlington felt as if her body were being taken away from her. She had a
sense of falling, a feeling that she must make some desperate effort to
rise again. The strange little lady was helping her, assisting her to
make this supreme effort. It was as if ages were passing. She was
wrestling with unknown powers. Suddenly she seemed to slip from them.
The little lady was holding her up. Clasping each other, they rose and
rose and rose. Mrs. Arlington had a firm conviction that she must
always be struggling upward, or they would overtake her and drag her
down again. When she awoke the little lady had gone, but that feeling
remained with her; that passionate acceptance of ceaseless struggle,
activity, contention, as now the end and aim of her existence. At
first she did not recollect where she was. A strange colourless light
was around her, and a strange singing as of myriads of birds. And then
the clock struck nine and life came back to her with a rush. But with
it still that conviction that she must seize hold of herself and
everybody else and get things done. Its immediate expression, as
already has been mentioned, was experienced by the twins.

When, after a talk with the Professor, aided and abetted by Mr.
Arlington and the eldest Arlington girl, she consented to pay that
second visit to the stones, it was with very different sensations that
she climbed the grass-grown path. The little lady had met her as
before, but the curious deep eyes looked sadly, and Mrs. Arlington had
the impression, generally speaking, that she was about to assist at her
own funeral. Again the little lady took her by the hands, and again
she experienced that terror of falling. But instead of ending with
contest and effort she seemed to pass into a sleep, and when she opened
her eyes she was again alone. Feeling a little chilly and unreasonably
tired, she walked slowly home, and not being hungry, retired supperless
to bed. Quite unable to explain why, she seems to have cried herself
to sleep.

One supposes that something of a similar nature may have occurred to
the others--with the exception of Mrs. Marigold