This being acknowledged a scientific, as well as a spiritual truth,
there remains no mystery in the fact that Robin at six years
old--when she watched the sparrows in the Square Gardens--did not
know the name of the feeling which had grown within her as a result
of her pleasure in the chance glimpses of the Lady Downstairs. It
was a feeling which made her eager to see her or anything which
belonged to her; it made her strain her child ears to catch the
sound of her voice; it made her long to hear Andrews or the other
servants speak of her, and yet much too shy to dare to ask any
questions. She had found a place on the staircase leading to the
Nursery, where, by squeezing against the balustrade, she could
sometimes see the Lady pass in and out of her pink bedroom. She
used to sit on a step and peer between the railing with beating
heart. Sometimes, after she had been put to bed for the night and
Andrews was safely entertained downstairs, Robin would be awakened
from her first sleep by sounds in the room below and would creep
out of bed and down to her special step and, crouching in a hectic
joy, would see the Lady come out with sparkling things in her hair
and round her lovely, very bare white neck and arms, all swathed
in tints and draperies which made her seem a vision of colour and
light. She was so radiant a thing that often the child drew in
her breath with a sound like a little sob of ecstasy, and her lip
trembled as if she were going to cry.
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