Once safely across the bridge and on the other side of the coombe, she pointed to a tiny lattice window with a light behind it which gleamed out through the surrounding foliage like a glow-worm in the darkness.
"Here we are at home," she said,--"Just along this path--it's quite easy!--now under this tree--it's a big chestnut,--you'll love it!--now here's the garden gate--wait till I lift the latch--that's right!--the garden's quite small you see,--it goes straight up to the cottage--and here's the door! Come in!" As in a dream, Helmsley was dimly conscious of the swishing rustle of wet leaves, and the fragrance of mignonette and roses mingling with the salty scent of the sea,--then he found himself in a small, low, oak-raftered kitchen, with a wide old-fashioned hearth and ingle-nook, warm with the glow of a sparkling fire.

A quaintly carved comfortably cushioned armchair was set in the corner, and to this his guide conducted him, and gently made him sit down.
"Now give me the doggie!" she said, taking that little personage from his arms--"He'll be glad of his supper and a warm bed, poor little soul! And so will you!" With a kindly caress she set Charlie down in front of the hearth, and proceeded to shut the cottage door, which had been left open as they entered,--and locking it, dropped an iron bar across it for the night.
Then she threw off her cloak, and hung it up on a nail in the wall, and bending over a lamp which was burning low on the table, turned up its wick a little higher.

Helmsley watched her in a kind of stupefied wonderment.

As the lamplight flashed up on her features, he saw that she was not a girl, but a woman who seemed to have thought and suffered.

Her face was pale, and the lines of her mouth were serious, though very sweet.