’"So it’s all over, and all went off well.” she said.  Then she walked quietly towards me and threw her arms round me and kissed me, saying, “Dear child, I am so glad.”

’The tone of voice in which she spoke to me was exactly that of a nurse speaking to a little child.

’I was so taken by surprise that I pulled myself from her embrace with some force.  The poor woman looked at me in a hurt way and then said,

’"I beg your pardon, miss.  I didn’t notice at first how—­how changed you are.  The look in your eyes makes me feel that you are not the same person, and that I have done quite wrong.”

’While she was speaking, Mr. D’Arcy had re-entered the room by the door by which he went out.  He had evidently heard the housekeeper’s words.

’"Miss Wynne,” he said, “this is Mrs. Titwing, my excellent housekeeper.  She has been attending you during your illness; but your weakness was so great that you were unconscious of all her kindness.”

’I went up to her and kissed her rosy cheek, at which she began to cry a little.  I afterwards found that she was in the habit of crying a little on most occasions.

’"Will you, then, kindly show me my room?” I said to her.  But as she turned round to lead the way to the room, Mr. D’Arcy said to her,

’"Before you show Miss Wynne the way, I should like one word with you, Mrs. Titwing, in your room, about the arrangements for the day.”

’The two passed out of the room, and again I was left to myself and my own thoughts.’

V

‘Evidently there was some mystery about me,’ said Winifred, continuing her story.  ’But the more I tried to think it out the more puzzling it seemed.  How had I been conveyed to this strange new place?  Who was the wizard whose eyes and whose voice began to enslave me? and what time had passed since he caught me up on Raxton sands?  It seemed exactly like one of those Arabian Nights stories which you and I used to read together when we were children.  The waking up on the couch, the sight of the end of the other couch behind the screen, and the tall woman’s feet upon it, the voices from unseen persons in the room, and above all the strange magic of him who seemed to be the directing genie of the story—­all would have seemed to me unreal had it not been for the prosaic figure of Mrs. Titwing.  About her there could not possibly be any mystery; she was what Miss Dalrymple would have called “the very embodiment of British commonplace,” and when, after a minute or two, she returned with Mr. D’Arcy, I went and kissed her again from sheer delight of feeling the touch of her real, solid; commonplace cheek, and to breathe the commonplace smell of scented soap.  Her bearing, however, towards me had become entirely changed since she had gone out of the room.  She did not return the kiss, but said, “Shall I show you the way, miss?” and led the way out.