In the very centre of the room a fine castle of bricks had been rising, a perfect Tower of Babel in its frustrated ambition.
The shadow of the great tree shook and quivered above these things.
Seymour saw Mrs.Trenchard's face, he heard her whisper: "Who is it?
What is it ?" Then she fell upon her knees near the tower of bricks.

She gazed at them, stared round the rest of the room, then looked up at him, saying very quietly: "I knew that they would come back one day.

I always waited.

It must have been they.

Only Francis ever built the bricks like that, with the red ones in the middle.