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"This is the same house, isn't it, Mauri?" he asked. "The one I used to come to?"

"Yes."

"There's something else I seem to remember," he went on. "I was with some people... not here, I think; somewhere else, and it was dark and raining hard. I wanted my mother and couldn't find her. Was that something that really happened?"

"Yes. It was when your mother died, Toti. There was a great storm at that time."

"Where was I then?"

"In a little house up the valley."

"That room at the end of the verandah must have some association for me, but I can't think what it was."

"You slept there with your father and mother when you first came, until your own house was finished."

"Could I look into it, Mauri? It's strange how I'm beginning to remember, now that I'm here once more."

Mauri stood at the doorway while McLeod stepped into the room and looked about him.

"It's not as it was when you were here," she said. "This was my husband's room. He died six years ago. I keep it just as he left it."

"I can see that it was a man's room," McLeod replied. "He was a great reader, evidently."