wail. "I heard Andrews say that his mother wouldn't let him know me
because you were my mother's friend. And then as I grew older--"

"Even if I had known what you thought I could not have defended myself,"
he answered, faintly smiling. "You must not let yourself think of it. It
is nothing now."

The hand holding the embroidery lifted itself to touch her breast. There
was even a shade of awe of him in her eyes.

"It is something to me--and to Donal. You have never defended yourself.
You endure things and endure them. You watched for years over an
ignorant child who loathed you. It was not that a child's hatred is of
importance--but if I had died and never asked you to forgive me, how
could I have looked into Donal's eyes? I want to go down on my knees to
you!"

He rose from his chair, and took in his own the unsteady hand holding
the embroidery. He even bent and lightly touched it with his lips, with
his finished air.

"You will not die," he said. "And you will not go upon your knees. Thank
you for being a warm hearted child, Robin."

But still her eyes held the touch of awe of him.

"But what I have spoken of is the least." Her voice almost broke. "In
the Wood--in the dark you said there was something that must be saved
from suffering. I could not think then--I could scarcely care. But you
cared, and you made me come awake. To save a poor little child who was
not born, you have done something which will make people believe you
were vicious and hideous--even when all this is over forever and ever.
And there will be no one to defend you. Oh! What shall I do!"

"There are myriads of worlds," was his answer. "And this is only one of
them. And I am only one man among the myriads on it. Let us be very
quiet again and watch the coming out of the stars."

In the pale saffron of the sky which was mysteriously darkening, sparks
like deep-set brilliants were lighting themselves here and there. They
sat and watched them together for long. But first Robin murmured
something barely above her lowest breath. Coombe was not sure that she
expected him to hear it.

"I want to be your little slave. Oh! Let me!"

CHAPTER XXXIV

This was what she had been thinking of. This had been the meaning of the
tender thought for him he had recognised uncomprehendingly in her look:
it had been the cause of her desire to enfold him in healing and restful
peace. When he had felt that she drew so close to him that they were
scar