You'll come again, won't you, and you'll keep it a secret ?' Mary deliberated for a few minutes.
'I don't like secrets,' she said, 'there is generally something dishonourable in them.

But this would be an innocent secret, wouldn't it?
Well, I'll come to see you somehow, poor old man; and if Steadman sees me here I will make everything right with him.' 'He mustn't see you here,' said the old man.

'If he does he will shut me up in my own rooms again, as he did once, years and years ago.' 'But you have not been here long, have you ?' Mary asked, wonderingly.
'A hundred years, at least.

That's what it seems to me sometimes.

And yet there are times when it seems only a dream.