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She made a little gesture. It conveyed to the Professor that his remark had not been altogether in good taste.

“I speak as one who has learned,” said Malvina.

“I beg your pardon,” said the Professor. “I ought not to have said that.”

Malvina accepted the Professor’s apology with a bow.

“But this is something very different,” continued the Professor. Quite another interest had taken hold of the Professor. It was easy enough to summon Dame Commonsense to one’s aid when Malvina was not present. Before those strange eyes the good lady had a habit of sneaking away. Suppose–of course the idea was ridiculous, but suppose–something did happen! As a psychological experiment was not one justified? What was the beginning of all science but applied curiosity? Malvina might be able–and willing–to explain how it was done. That is, if anything did happen, which, of course, it wouldn’t, and so much the better. This thing had got to be ended.

“It would be using a gift not for one’s own purposes, but to help others,” urged the Professor.

“You see,” urged Victor, “mamma really wants to be changed.”

“And papa wants it too,” urged Victoria.

“It seems to me, if I may so express it,” added the Professor, “that really it would be in the nature of making amends for–well, for- -for our youthful follies,” concluded the Professor a little nervously.

Malvina’s eyes were fixed on the Professor. In the dim light of the low-ceilinged room, those eyes seemed all of her that was visible.

“You wish it?” said Malvina.

It was not at all fair, as the Professor told himself afterwards, her laying the responsibility on him. If she really was the original Malvina, lady-in-waiting to Queen Harbundia, then she was quite old enough to have decided for herself. From the Professor’s calculations she must now be about three thousand eight hundred. The Professor himself was not yet sixty; in comparison a mere babe! But Malvina’s eyes were compelling.

“Well, it can’t do any harm,” said the Professor. And Malvina seems to have accepted that as her authority.

“Let her come to the Cross Stones at sundown,” directed Malvina.

The Professor saw the twins to the door. For some reason the Professor could not have explained, they all three walked out on tiptoe. Old Mr. Brent, the postman, was passing, and the twins ran after him and each took a hand. Malvina was still standing where the Professor had left her. It was very absurd, but the Professor felt frightened. He went into the kitchen, where it was light and cheerful, and started Mrs. Muldoon on Home Rule. When he returned to the parlour Malvina was gone.

The twins did not talk that night, and decided next morning not to say a word, but just to ask their mother to come for an evening walk with them. The fear was that she might demand reasons. But, quite oddly, she consented without question. It seemed to the twins that it was Mrs. Arlington herself who took the pathway leading past the cave, and when they reached the Cross Stones she sat down and apparently had forgotten their existence. They stole away without her noticing them, but did not quite know what to do with themselves. They ran for half a mile till they came to the wood; there they remained awhile, careful not to venture within; and then they crept back. They found their mother sitting just as they had left her. They thought she was asleep, but her eyes were wide open. They were tremendously relieved, though what they had feared they never knew. They sat down, one on each side of her, and each took a hand, but in spite of her eyes being open, it was quite a time before she seemed conscious of their return. She rose and slowly looked about her, and as she did so the church clock struck nine. She could not at first believe it was so late. Convinced by looking at her watch–there was just light enough for her to see it–she became all at once more angry than the twins had ever known her, and for the first time in their lives they both experienced the sensation of having their ears boxed. Nine o’clock was the proper time for supper and they were half an hour from home, and it was all their fault. It did not take them half an hour. It took them twenty minutes, Mrs. Arlington striding ahead and the twins panting breathless behind her. Mr. Arlington had not yet returned. He came in five minutes afterwards, and Mrs. Arlington told him what she thought of him. It was the shortest supper within the twins’ recollection. They found themselves in bed ten minutes in advance of the record. They could hear their mother’s voice from the kitchen. A jug of milk had been overlooked and had gone sour. She had given Jane a week’s notice before the clock struck ten.