'Oh, poor, poor, dear Sir Christopher!' she said.
'That's how she looked when she was dead,' he said; 'would you like to see my ladybird as she was when she was alive and well, and I was a strong man able to work for her?'
'Yes—oh yes,' said Phyllis.
He led the way into the pearly room, and drew back a green curtain that hung there. Phyllis caught her breath sharply, and tears pricked her eyes. Not because the picture was a sad one—ah, no! not that!
As the curtain was withdrawn the figure of a child seemed to spring towards them from the canvas—a happy, laughing child, her arms full of roses, her face full of health and beauty and the joy of life; a child whose glad, unclouded eyes met Phyllis's in a free, joyous look.
'Oh no!' cried Phyllis; 'she can't be dead—she can't!'
The old man took her in his arms, for she was crying bitterly.
'Thank you—thank you, dear,' he said, soothing her. 'Now I know that you are the right person to help me.'
'I? Help you?'
