in her hands. 'I have no right, you know—no other right. I have neither borne nor lost—neither borne nor lost!'
'Be very glad then,' said I, for my soul was torn open within me.
'Forgive me!'
She was still, and I went back to my sorrow and my joy.
'It was because I loved them so,' she said at last, brokenly. 'That was why it was, even from the first—even before I knew that they—they were all I should ever have. And I loved them so!'
She stretched out her arms to the shadows and the shadows within the shadow.
'They came because I loved them—because I needed them. I—I must have made them come. Was that wrong, think you?'
'No— no.'
'I—I grant you that the toys and—and all that sort of thing were nonsense, but—but I used to so hate empty rooms myself when I was little.' She pointed to the gallery. 'And the passages all empty. . . . And how could I ever bear the garden door shut? Suppose———'
'Don't! For pity's sake, don't!' I cried. The twilight had brought a cold rain with gusty squalls that plucked at the leaded windows.
'And the same thing with keeping the fire in all night. I don't think it so foolish—do you?'
I looked at the broad brick hearth, saw, through tears I believe, that there was no unpassable iron on or near it, and bowed my head.
'I did all that and lots of other things—just to
