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 that he must have some one to help him. Urging Robin not to move he knocked at Miss Monogue's door. She opened it, and he stepped back with an apology when he saw that some one else was there.

“It's a friend of mine,” Norah Monogue said. “Come in and be introduced, Peter.”

“It's only,” Peter explained, “that young Robin has got his head stuck in the bannisters and I want some one to help me—”

Between them they pulled the boy through to safety. He chuckled.

“I'll do it again,” he said.

“I'd rather you didn't,” said Peter.

“Then I won't,” said Robin. “I did it 'cause Rupert said I couldn't—Rupert's silly ass.”

“You mustn't call your brother names or I won't come and see you in bed.”

“You will come?” said Robin, very earnestly.

“I will,” said Peter, “to-night, if you don't call your brother names.”

“I think,” said Robin, reflectively, “that now I will hunt for the lion and the tigers on the stairs—”

“Bring him into my room until his bedtime,” said Miss Monogue, laughing. “It's safer. Mrs. Tressiter is busy and has quite enough children in with her already.”

So Peter brought Robin into Miss Norah Monogue's room and was introduced, at once, to Clare Elizabeth Rossiter—so easily and simply do the furious events of life occur.

She was standing with her back to the window, and the light from Miss Monogue's candles fell on her black dress and her red-gold hair. As he came towards her he knew at once that she was the little girl who had talked to him on a hill-top one Good Friday afternoon. He could almost hear her now as she spoke to Crumpet—the candle-light glow was dim and sacred in the foggy room; the colour of her hair was filled more wonderfully with light and fire. Her hands were so delicate and fine as they moved against her black dress that they seemed to have some harmony of their own like a piece of music or a running stream. She wore blue feathers in her black hat. She did not know