Close to its warmth sat a white-haired woman, one long thin hand
supporting her head in such a way as to keep her face in a shadow.
[Illustration: "IT'S LIKE THE HOUSE OF BREAD AND CAKE"]
Robin explained their presence in the lane, incoherently, for there was
something frightening about the silent, composed figure and the
intentness with which those shadowed eyes scrutinized her. While Robin
talked, Beryl swiftly surveyed the room and its occupants, not least of
which was a great St. Bernard dog, that, after one "gr'f'f" leaned
against his mistress' chair and regarded the intruders with watchful
eyes as though to reserve advances, friendly or hostile.
Her account finished, Robin smiled bravely back into the grave face,
with that enchanting tenderness which had won Cornelius Allendyce and
enticed him to strange deeds.
The smile worked its spell at least on the dog for he moved slowly over
to her, lifted a big paw and placed it gravely upon her shoulder.
"Caesar declares you a friend," said the woman in a slow, low-pitched
voice. "He does not welcome many into our seclusion. Please sit down.
Brina, bring these young ladies a pitcher of milk and some cookies.
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