And he's given you and it--poor helpless innocent--his own name, God bless him!" Robin sat still and straight, with clasped hands on her knee, and her eyes more lost than before, as she questioned Dowie remorselessly.

There was something she must know.
"He said--and the Duchess said--that no one would believe me if I told them I was married.

Do _you_ believe me, Dowie?
Would Mademoiselle believe me--if she is alive--for Oh! I believe she is dead! Would you _both_ believe me ?" Dowie's work fell upon the rug and she held out both her comfortable nursing arms, choking: "Come here, my lamb," she cried out, with suddenly streaming eyes.

"Come and sit on your old Dowie's knee like you used to do in the nursery." "You _do_ believe me--you _do_!" As she had looked in the nursery days--the Robin who left her chair and was swept into the well known embrace--looked now.

She hid her face on Dowie's shoulder and clung to her with shaking hands.
"I prayed to Jesus Christ that you would believe me, Dowie!" she cried.
"And that Mademoiselle would come if she is not killed.