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Updated: June 16, 2025
It might be that she had asked him to come to Darreuch because her thought of him had so changed that she had realised something of his grave anxiety for her health and a gentle consideration had made her wish to give him the opportunity to see her face to face. Perhaps she had intended only this. "I want to see her," he had said to himself. The relief of the mere seeing had been curiously great.
He felt younger and knew that on his return to London he should be more inclined to disbelieve exaggerated rumours than to believe them. On the evening before he left Darreuch they sat at the Tower window again. She did not take her sewing from its basket, but sat very quietly for a while looking at the purple folds of moor. "You will go away very early in the morning," she began at last. "Yes.
I can make her come home and stay with me while I see her through her 'trouble, as pious people call it. She's got herself into trouble just like a housemaid. I knew she would I warned her," and her laugh was actually shrill. It was inevitable and ghastly that he should suddenly see Robin with her white eyelids dropped over her basket of sewing by the window in the Tower room at Darreuch.
He noticed that she never spoke of sad and dark hours. He was convinced that she purposely avoided them and he was profoundly glad. "I know," she said once, "that you do not want me to talk to you about the War." "Thank you for knowing it," he answered. "I come here on a pilgrimage to a shrine where peace is. Darreuch is my shrine." "It is mine, too," was her low response.
"How kind his face looked," was Robin's thought as he hesitated a second and then went on: "I know very little of such sacrosanct things as mothers and children, but lately I have had fancies of a place for them where there are only smiles and happiness and beauty as a beginning." It was she who now put her hand on his arm. "Little Darreuch is like that and you gave it to me," she said.
In Flanders and in France it filled the skies with thunders and drenched the soil with blood. But here it was not. The partly rebuilt ruin of Darreuch rose at last before his view high on the moor as he drove up the winding road. The space and the blue sky above and behind it made it seem the embodiment of remote stillness. Nothing had reached nor could touch it.
She must be kept in peace and taken great care of if she was to gain strength to live through her time. She had no family to watch over her and his lordship and an old lady who was fond of her had taken her trouble in hand. The well-trained woman who had nursed her as a child would bring her to Darreuch Castle and there would stay.
I repeat it will occur at the exact psychological moment. They will bring red-hot blood and furious unbounded courage And it will be the end." In fact Coombe waited with a tense sensation of being too tightly strung. He had hours when he felt that something might snap. But nothing must snap yet. He was too inextricably entangled in the arduous work even to go to Darreuch for rest.
The little feudal fastness in the Highlands which was called Darreuch Castle when it was mentioned by any one, which was rarely had been little more than a small ruin when Lord Coombe inherited it as an unconsidered trifle among more imposing and available property. It had indeed presented the aspect not so much of an asset as of an entirely useless relic.
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