silver frame on the mantelpiece. But all these things were of little
avail when the dark came. She began to be frightened of the dark.

There came a night when, waking with a suddenness that did of itself
contribute to her alarm, she was conscious that the room was intensely
dark, and that every one was very far away. The house, as she listened,
seemed to be holding its breath, the clock in the nursery was ticking in
a frightened, startled terror, and hesitating, whimsical noises broke,
now close, now distant, upon the silence. She lay there, her heart
beating as it had surely never been allowed to beat before. She was
simply a very small, very frightened little girl. Then, before she could
cry out, she was aware that some one was standing beside her bed. She
was aware of this before she looked, and then, strangely (even now she
had taken no peep), she was frightened no longer.

The room, the house, were suddenly comfortable and safe places; as water
slips from a pool and leaves it dry, so had terror glided from her side.
She looked up then, and, although the place had been so dark that she
had been unable to distinguish the furniture, she could figure to
herself quite clearly her visitor's form. She not only figured it, but
also quite easily and readily recognised it. All these years she had
forgotten him, but now at the vision of his large comfortable presence
she was back again amongst experiences and recognitions that evoked for
her once more all those odd first days when, with how much discomfort
and puzzled dismay, she had been dropped, so suddenly, into this
distressing world. He put his arms around her and held her; he bent down
and kissed her, and her small hand went up to his beard in exactly the
way that it used to do. She nestled up against him.

"It's a very long time, isn't it," he said, "since I paid you a visit!"