At the top of the broad low stair stood a woman-form with a candle in her hand, gazing about her as if wondering which way to go.

The light fell full upon her face, the beauty of which was such that, with her dress, which was white--being, in fact, a nightgown--and her hair, which was hanging loose about her shoulders and down to her waist, it led Robert at once to the conclusion (his reasoning faculties already shaken by the events of the night) that she was an angel come down to comfort his grannie; and he kneeled involuntarily at the foot of the stair, and gazed up at her, with the cakes in one hand, and the mug of water in the other, like a meat-and-drink offering.

Whether he had closed his eyes or bowed his head, he could not say; but he became suddenly aware that the angel had vanished--he knew not when, how, or whither.

This for a time confirmed his assurance that it was an angel.

And although he was undeceived before long, the impression made upon him that night was never effaced.
But, indeed, whatever Falconer heard or saw was something more to him than it would have been to anybody else.
Elated, though awed, by the vision, he felt his way up the stair in the new darkness, as if walking in a holy dream, trod as if upon sacred ground as he crossed the landing where the angel had stood--went up and up, and found Shargar wide awake with expectant hunger.