One in a tower adjoining was hung with tapestry and filled with wonderful old things, uncrowded and harmonious and so arranged as to produce the effect of a small retreat for rest, the reading of books or refuge in stillness.
When Robin went into it she stood for a few moments looking about her--looking and wondering.
"Lord Coombe remembers everything," she said very slowly at last, "-- everything.

He remembers." "He always did remember," said Dowie watching her.

"That's it." "I did not know--at first," Robin said as slowly as before.

"I do--now." In the evening she sat long before the fire and Dowie, sewing near her, looked askance now and then at her white face with the lost eyes.

It was Dowie's own thought that they were "lost." She had never before seen anything like them.