She seemed to writhe in her misery.

“Well yes, yes Columbus.  We know all about that.”

Anna-Rose turned her quivering face to him.  “Oh, you haven’t seen—­you don’t see—­it’s only me that’s seen—­”

“Seen what?  What haven’t I seen?  Ah, don’t cry—­don’t cry like that—­”

“Oh, I’ve lost her—­lost her—­”

“Lost her?  Because she’s marrying?”

“Lost her—­lost her—­” sobbed Anna-Rose.

“Come now,” remonstrated Mr. Twist.  “Come now.  That’s just flat contrary to the facts.  You’ve lost nothing, and you’ve gained a brother.”

“Oh,—­lost her—­lost her,” sobbed Anna-Rose.

“Come, come now,” said Mr. Twist helplessly.

“Oh,” she sobbed, looking at him out of her piteous eyes, “has nobody thought of it but me?  Columbus hasn’t.  I—­I know she hasn’t from what—­from what—­she said.  She’s too—­too happy to think.  But—­haven’t you thought—­haven’t you seen—­that she’ll be English now—­really English—­and go away from me to England with him—­and I—­I can’t go to England—­because I’m still—­I’m still—­an alien enemy—­and so I’ve lost her—­lost her—­lost my own twin—­”

And Anna-Rose dropped her head on to her knees and sobbed in an abandonment of agony.

Mr. Twist sat without saying or doing anything at all.  He hadn’t thought of this; nor, he was sure, had Anna-Felicitas.  And it was true.  Now he understood Anna-Rose’s face and the despair of it.  He sat looking at her, overwhelmed by the realization of her misfortune.  For a moment he was blinded by it, and didn’t see what it would mean for him.  Then he did see.  He almost leaped, so sudden was the vision, and so luminous.

“Anna-Rose,” he said, his voice trembling, “I want to put my arm round you.  That’s because I love you.  And if you’ll let me do that I could tell you of a way there is out of this for you.  But I can’t tell you so well unless—­unless you let me put my arm round you first....”

He waited trembling.  She only sobbed.  He couldn’t even be sure she was listening.  So he put his arm round her to try.  At least she didn’t resist.  So he drew her closer.  She didn’t resist that either.  He couldn’t even be sure she knew about it.  So he put his other arm round her too, and though he couldn’t be sure, he thought—­he hardly dared think, but it did seem as if—­she nestled.

Happiness, such as in his lonely, loveless life he had never imagined, flooded Mr. Twist.  He looked down at her face, which was now so close to his, and saw that her eyes were shut.  Great sobs went on shaking her little body, and her tears, now that he wasn’t wiping them, were rolling down her cheeks unchecked.

He held her closer to him, close to his heart where she belonged, and again he had that sensation, that wonderful sensation, of nestling.

“Little Blessed, the way out is so simple,” he whispered.  “Little Blessed, don’t you see?”