"There is no child there!" Mrs. Haldon shuddered. But it was not
with horror. There was actually a wild dawning bliss in her face.
"What is she like?"

"She is like the picture." Jane scarcely knew her own monotonous
voice. The world of real things was being withdrawn from her and
she was standing without its pale--alone with this woman and her
wild eyes. She began to shiver because her warm blood was growing
cold. "She is a child with red hair--and there is a deep dimple
near her mouth. Judith told me. You must not touch her."

She heard a wild gasp--a flash of something at once anguish and
rapture blazed across the haggard, young face--and with a
swerving as if her slight body had been swept round by a sudden
great wind, Mrs. Haldon turned and fled up the stairs.

Jane Foster followed. The great wind swept her upward too. She
remembered no single intake or outlet of breath until she was
upon the fourth floor.

The door of the Closed Room stood wide open and Mrs. Haldon was
swept within.

Jane Foster saw her stand in the middle of the room a second, a
tall, swaying figure. She whirled to look about her and flung up
her arms with an unearthly rapturous, whispered cry:

"It is all as she left it when she ran to me and fell. She has
been here--to show me it is not so far!"