Chapter Four.

Chapter Four.A Boy and a Boat.“Are little boats alive?And can they plan and feel?”“A.”“If you please, there’s a boy at the kitchen-door asking for the young ladies,” said the young maid-servant Ulrica, who generally waited on Ruby and Mavis.They were just finishing their morning lessons with Miss Hortensia, and Mavis was putting away the books, a task which usually fell to her share.Miss Hortensia gave a little start.“A boy,” she exclaimed, “what kind of a boy? It can’t be—oh no of course not. How foolish I am. At the kitchen-door, did you say, Ulrica? Who is it?”“Oh, I know!” cried Ruby, jumping up with a clatter, delighted to avoid finding out the mistake in a sum which Miss Hortensia had told her she must correct. “It’s Winfried; I’m sure it is. He’s come for some soup or something. I told him he might, but I do think it’s rather greedy to have come the very next day. Mayn’t I go and speak to him, cousin?”“Well, yes, I suppose so. No, I think it would be better for him to come in here. Show the boy in here, Ulrica—at least—ask him if he is old Adam’s grandson.”In a minute or two the door was again opened.“If you please, ma’am,” said Ulrica’s voice as before, “it’s—it’s the boy.”“The boy” walked in; he held his cap in his hand, and made a sort of graceful though simple obeisance to the ladies. He did not seem the least shy, yet neither was there a touch of boldness about him. On his face was the slight but pleasant smile that had more than once lighted it up the day before, and his eyes, as he stood there full in the bright gleam of the window—for it was a clear and sunny day—wereveryblue.Ruby came forward.“Oh, it’s you, is it?” she said, with the half-patronising good humour usual to her when not put out. “I thought it was. It’s Winfried, cousin Hortensia; the boy I told you of. I suppose you’ve come for some soup for your grandfather.”Winfried smiled, a little more than before. Mavis crept forward; she wished she could have said something, but she was afraid of vexing Ruby.“No, miss,” said Winfried, “I did not come for that, though grandfather said it was very kind of you, and some day perhaps—” he stopped short.“I came to bring you this which I found on the rocks down below our cottage;” and he held out a little silver cross. Ruby started, and put her hand up to her neck.“Oh dear,” she said, “I never knew I had lost it. Are you sure it isn’t yours, Mavis? I’ve got my cord on.”“Yes, but the cross must have dropped off,” said Mavis. “I have mine all right.”And so it proved. Both little sisters wore these crosses, which were exactly alike. Ruby took hers from Winfried, and began examining it to see how it had got loose. Miss Hortensia came forward.“It was very good of you to bring the little cross,” she said kindly; for something about the boy attracted her very much. “Ruby, my dear,” she went on half reprovingly. Ruby started and looked up. “I am sure you are very much obliged?”“Oh yes, of course I am,” said the little girl carelessly. “It certainly was very sharp of you to find it,” she added with more interest.“I can generally find things,” said Winfried quietly.“Is there anything we can do for your grandfather?” asked Miss Hortensia. “I am sorry to hear he’s so ill.”The boy shook his head; a sad look passed across his bright face.“Yes,” he said, “he’s pretty bad sometimes. But some days he’s much better. He’s better to-day. There’s one thing he would like,” he went on, “he told me to ask you if some day the young ladies might come to see him; he said I might ask—”Ruby interrupted—“Why, how funny you are,” she said; “that was just what we wanted yesterday, and you wouldn’t let us go near the cottage. You said we’d startle him.”“He was very tired yesterday,” said Winfried; “and you see he wasn’t looking for you.”“He was chattering and laughing all the same—or somebody was,” said Ruby. “We heard them—don’t you remember?”Winfried did not speak. But he did not seem vexed.“I believe it was the mermaids after all,” Ruby went on. “Cousin Hortensia, if you let us go there the mermaids will steal us.”“No, indeed,” exclaimed Winfried eagerly.Miss Hortensia smiled at him.“I am not afraid,” she said. “Tell your grandfather the young ladies shall certainly go to see him some day soon.”“To-morrow,” said Mavis, speaking almost for the first time. “Oh, do say we may go to-morrow—it’s our half-holiday.”“Very well,” said Miss Hortensia. “Are you sure you can find your way? I can send Ulrica with you.”“Mayn’t I come to fetch the young ladies?” asked Winfried. “I know all the short cuts.”“I should think you did,” laughed Ruby. “We told cousin Hortensia all about that queer path through the rocks.She’dnever seen it either.”“I’ll take you quite as nice a way to-morrow,” said the boy composedly. “May I go now, please?” he added, turning to Miss Hortensia. “Grandfather may be wanting me, and thank you very much;” and in another moment he was gone.Miss Hortensia was quite silent for a minute or two after he had left the room.“Cousin,” began Ruby; but her cousin did not seem to hear. “Cousin,” repeated the child impatiently.Miss Hortensia looked up as if awakened from a brown study.“Did you speak, my dear?” she said.“Yes, of course I did. I want you to say something about that queer boy. I suppose you think him very nice, or you wouldn’t let Mavis and me go to his cottage. You’re generally so frightened about us.”“I do think he is a very nice boy,” said Miss Hortensia. “I am sure he is quite trustworthy.”“Ibelieve he’s a bit of a fairy, and I’m sure his old grandfather’s a wizard,” murmured Ruby. “And I quite expect, as I said to Joan, that we shall be turned into sea-gulls or frogs if we go there.”“I shouldn’t mind being a sea-gull,” said Mavis. “Not for a little while at least. Would you, cousin Hortensia?”But Miss Hortensia had not been listening to their chatter.“My dears,” she said suddenly, “I will tell you one reason why I should be glad for you sometimes to have Winfried as a companion if he is as good and manly as he seems. I have had a letter from your father, telling me of a new guest we are to expect. It is a cousin of yours—a little nephew of your father’s—your aunt Margaret’s son. He is an only child, and, your father fears, a good deal spoilt. He is coming here because his father is away at sea and his mother is ill and must be kept quiet, and Bertrand, it seems, is very noisy.”“Bertrand,” repeated Ruby, “oh, I remember about him. I remember father telling us about him—he is a horrid boy, I know.”“Your father did not call him a horrid boy, I’m sure,” said Miss Hortensia.“No,” said Mavis, “he only said he was spoilt. And he said he was a pretty little boy, and nice in some ways.”“Well, we must do our best to make him nicer,” said Miss Hortensia; “though I confess I feel a little uneasy—you have never been accustomed to rough bearish ways. And if Winfried can be with you sometimes he might help you with Bertrand.”“When is he coming?” asked Ruby.“Very soon, but I do not know the exact day. Now run off, my dears; there is time for you to have half an hour’s play in the garden before dinner.”It was curious that of the two little girls Mavis seemed the more to dislike the idea of the expected guest.“Ruby,” she said rather dolefully, “I do wish Bertrand weren’t coming. He’ll spoil everything, and we shan’t know what to do with him.”“There’s not much to spoil that I see,” said Ruby.“What do you mean?”“Oh, our nice quiet ways. Cousin Hortensia telling us stories and all that,” said Mavis. “And I’m sure Winfried won’t want to have to look after a rough, rude little boy. It’s quite different withus—Winfried likes us because we’re—ladies, you know, and gentle and nice to him.”Ruby laughed.“How you go on about Winfried—Winfried!” she said mockingly. “I think it’s a very good thing Bertrand is coming to put him down a bit—a common fisher-boy! I wonder at cousin Hortensia. I’m sure if father knew he wouldn’t be at all pleased, butI’mnot going to tell him. I mean to have some fun with Master Winfried before I have done with him, and I expect Bertrand will help me.”“Ruby!” exclaimed Mavis, looking startled, “you don’t mean that you are going to play him any tricks?” Ruby only laughed again, more mockingly than before.“I’d like to lock him up in the haunted room in the west turret one night,” she said. “I do hope he’d get a good fright.”Mavis seemed to have recovered from her alarm.“I don’t believe he’d mind the least scrap,” she said; “that shows you don’t understand him one bit. He’d like it; besides, you say yourself you think he’s a fairy boy, so why should he be afraid of fairies?”“Nobody’s afraid offairies, you silly girl. But if cousin Hortensia saw anything in the turret—and I don’t believe she did,—it wasn’t a fairy, it was quite different—more a sort of witch, I suppose.”“You’re always talking of witches and wizards,” retorted Mavis, who seemed to be picking up a spirit which rather astonished Ruby. “Ilike thinking of nicer things—angels and—oh Ruby!” she suddenly broke off, “do look here—oh, how lovely!” and stooping down she pointed to a thick cluster of turquoise blossoms, almost hidden in a corner beneath the shrubs. “Aren’tthey darlings? Really it’s enough to make one believe in fairies or kind spirits of some kind—to find forget-me-nots like these in November!” and she looked up at her sister with delight dancing in her eyes.Even Ruby looked surprised.“They are beauties,” she said; “and I’m almost sure they weren’t there yesterday. Didn’t we come round by here, Mavis?”“Not till it was nearly dark. We ran in this way, you know, after we came out of Winfried’s path,” said Mavis.“Oh, yes, I remember,” Ruby replied, and a half dreamy look stole over her face.They were standing on the lower terrace. This side of the castle, as I have said, was much more sheltered and protected than the other, but still already in November it was bleak and bare. The evergreen shrubs had begun to look self-satisfied and important, as I think they always do in late autumn, when their fragile companions of the summer are shivering together in forlorn misery, or sinking slowly and sadly, leaf by leaf, brown and shrivelled, into the parent bosom of Mother Earth, always ready to receive and hide her poor children in their day of desolation. Nay, more, far more than that does she for them in her dark but loving embrace; not a leaf, not a tiniest twig is lost or mislaid—all, everything, is cared for and restored again, at the sun’s warm kiss to creep forth in ever fresh and renewed life and beauty. For all we see, children dear, is but a type, faint and shadowy, of the real things thatare.Then a strange sort of irritation came over Ruby. The soft wondering expression so new to her disappeared, and she turned sharply to Mavis.“Rubbish!” she said. “Of course they were there yesterday. But they shan’t be there to-morrow—here goes;” and she bent down to pick the little flowers.Mavis stopped her with a cry.“Don’t gather them, Ruby,” she said. “Poor little things, they might stay in their corner in peace, and we could come and look at them every day. They’d wither so soon in the house.”Ruby laughed. She was much more careless than actually unkind, at least when kindness cost her little.“Whata baby you are,” she said contemptuously. “You make as much fuss as when I wanted to take the thrush’s eggs last spring. Wouldn’t you like to give your dear Winfried a posy of them?”“No,” Mavis answered, “he wouldn’t like us to gather them; there are so few and they do look so sweet.” The next day was clear and bright, but cold; evidently winter was coming now. But old Bertha had started the fires at last, as the date on which it was the rule at the castle for them to begin on was now past. So inside the house it was comfortable enough—in the inhabited part of it at least; though in the great unused rooms round the tiled hall, where all the furniture was shrouded in ghostly-looking linen covers, and up the echoing staircase, and up still higher in the turret-rooms where the wind whistled in at one window and out again at the opposite one, where Jack Frost’s pictures lasted the same on the panes for days at a time—dear, dear, itwascold, even Bertha herself allowed, when she had to make her weekly tour of inspection to see that all was right.“I will ask Miss Hortensia not to let the little ladies play in the west turret this winter,” thought the old woman. “I’m sure it was there Miss Mavis caught her cold last Christmas. A good fire indeed! It’d take a week of bonfires to warm that room.”But old Bertha was mistaken, as you will see. There was no thought of playing in the west turret this half-holiday, however, for it was the right sort of day for a bright winter walk. And while the afternoon was still young, Ruby and Mavis, warmly wrapt up in their fur-lined mantles and hoods, were racing downstairs to Winfried, who had come punctually and was waiting for them, so Ulrica had come in to say, at the door in the archway on the sea side of the castle.“What are you here for?” was Ruby’s first greeting. “Why didn’t you come to the garden side? Aren’t you going to take us by the path between the rocks, down below the field?”“No, Miss Ruby,” said the boy, his cap in his hand. “We’re going another way to-day. I think you will like it just as well. We must go down to the cove first.”“Idon’t mind,” said Ruby, dancing on in front of the two others; “but I’m afraid Mavis has been dreaming of that nice cosy little path. She wouldn’t let me even look for the entrance to it yesterday; she said we should wait for you to show it us.”“I think Miss Mavis will like to-day’s way just as well,” Winfried repeated.They were some little distance down the cliff by this time. It was very clear and bright; for once, the waves, even though the tide was close up to the shore, seemed in a peaceful mood, and only as a distant murmur came the boom of their dashing against the rocks, round to the right beyond the little sheltered nook. Winfried stood still for a moment and gazed down seawards, shading his eyes with his hand, for winter though it was, the afternoon sunshine was almost dazzling.“What is it? What are you looking for?” asked Ruby, coming back a step or two and standing beside him. “Do come on; it’s too cold to hang about.”For once Winfried was less polite than usual. He did not answer Ruby, but turned to Mavis, who was a little behind.“Do you see anything?” he asked.And Mavis, following his eyes, answered, “Yes—there’s—oh, there’s a little boat drifting in—a tiny boat—is it drifting? No; there’s some one in it,—some one with a blue cloak; no, it must have been the waves just touching; the waves are so blue to-day.”The boy gave a little sigh of satisfaction.“I thought so,” he said. Then he sprang forward eagerly: “Come on,” he cried, “we mustn’t be late.”Ruby followed, not too pleased.“I’ve as good eyes as Mavis,” she said. “Why didn’t you ask me? I don’t believe there’s a boat at all.”But even Ruby had to give in when in a few minutes they found themselves at the edge of the cove, on the little half-circle of sand which was all that the sea left uncovered at full tide. For therewasa boat, a most unmistakable and delightful boat, though scarcely larger than a sofa, and looking like a perfect toy as it rocked gently on the rippling water.“Goodness!” said Ruby,—and it must be allowed that goodness is a prettier word than rubbish,—“how in the world did that boat come here? Did you bring it, Winfried? No, for if you had you wouldn’t have been looking to see if it had come. But is it your boat?”“No,” answered the boy; “it’s lent me, on purpose for you and Miss Mavis. Get in, please.”Ruby came forward, but hesitated.“Are you sure it’s safe?” she said. “You know the sea is very rough—round there near the village. And this is such a very little boat.”Winfried laughed.“It’s as safe as—as the safest thing you can think of,” he said. “You’renot afraid, Miss Mavis.”For all answer the little girl sprang into the boat; it danced under her feet, but she only laughed.“Come on, Ruby,” she called out; “it’s lovely.”Ruby stepped in cautiously. The little boat was most dainty and pretty. There were cushions for the little girls, and one or two soft rich coloured shawls, of a fashion and material such as they had never seen before.“Dear me,” said Ruby, settling herself in the most comfortable place and drawing the pretty rugs round her, “what a nice little boat! Your friends must be very rich, Winfried. But I know what I know;” and she shook her head mysteriously.“What do you mean, Ruby?” said Mavis.Winfried was busy with his oars and did not seem to be attending to them. Ruby leant forward and whispered, close into her sister’s ear, “Mermaids!” Then seeing or thinking that the boy was not listening, she went on. “You know mermaidsarevery rich. They dive down into the shipwrecked vessels and fish up all the treasures. I daresay these shawls have come from some strange country, right over at the other side of the world. Indeed,somepeople say that the horrid things sing to make the sailors turn to look for them and get their ships all in among the rocks.”Mavis looked puzzled.“I don’t think that’smermaids,” she said. “There’s another name for those naughty, unkind creatures.”“Syrens,” came Winfried’s voice from the other end of the boat. And he looked up with a smile at the little girls’ start of surprise. “Don’t be afraid,” he said, “my friends are neither mermaids nor syrens; you’re not going to be shipwrecked in this boat, I promise you.” Somehow the boy seemed to have gained a new kind of dignity now that the children were, so to say, his guests. Ruby said, “Thank you,” quite meekly and submissively for her.Then they were all quite silent for a while, only the plash of Winfried’s oars broke the stillness. And somehow out there on the water it seemed to have grown warmer, at least the children felt conscious of neither cold nor heat, it was just perfectly pleasant. And the sun shone on mildly. There was a thorough feeling of “afternoon,” with its quiet and mystery and yet faint expectation, such as one seldom has except in summer.“It is lovely,” said Mavis presently; “only I’m a little afraid I’m getting sleepy.”“No, you needn’t be afraid,” said Winfried; and just as he said the words, Mavis started, as something flitted against her cheek.“Ruby, Ruby!” she exclaimed, “did you see it? A butterfly—a blue butterfly—in November! Oh, where has it gone to?” and she gazed all round anxiously.

“Are little boats alive?And can they plan and feel?”“A.”

“Are little boats alive?And can they plan and feel?”“A.”

“If you please, there’s a boy at the kitchen-door asking for the young ladies,” said the young maid-servant Ulrica, who generally waited on Ruby and Mavis.

They were just finishing their morning lessons with Miss Hortensia, and Mavis was putting away the books, a task which usually fell to her share.

Miss Hortensia gave a little start.

“A boy,” she exclaimed, “what kind of a boy? It can’t be—oh no of course not. How foolish I am. At the kitchen-door, did you say, Ulrica? Who is it?”

“Oh, I know!” cried Ruby, jumping up with a clatter, delighted to avoid finding out the mistake in a sum which Miss Hortensia had told her she must correct. “It’s Winfried; I’m sure it is. He’s come for some soup or something. I told him he might, but I do think it’s rather greedy to have come the very next day. Mayn’t I go and speak to him, cousin?”

“Well, yes, I suppose so. No, I think it would be better for him to come in here. Show the boy in here, Ulrica—at least—ask him if he is old Adam’s grandson.”

In a minute or two the door was again opened.

“If you please, ma’am,” said Ulrica’s voice as before, “it’s—it’s the boy.”

“The boy” walked in; he held his cap in his hand, and made a sort of graceful though simple obeisance to the ladies. He did not seem the least shy, yet neither was there a touch of boldness about him. On his face was the slight but pleasant smile that had more than once lighted it up the day before, and his eyes, as he stood there full in the bright gleam of the window—for it was a clear and sunny day—wereveryblue.

Ruby came forward.

“Oh, it’s you, is it?” she said, with the half-patronising good humour usual to her when not put out. “I thought it was. It’s Winfried, cousin Hortensia; the boy I told you of. I suppose you’ve come for some soup for your grandfather.”

Winfried smiled, a little more than before. Mavis crept forward; she wished she could have said something, but she was afraid of vexing Ruby.

“No, miss,” said Winfried, “I did not come for that, though grandfather said it was very kind of you, and some day perhaps—” he stopped short.

“I came to bring you this which I found on the rocks down below our cottage;” and he held out a little silver cross. Ruby started, and put her hand up to her neck.

“Oh dear,” she said, “I never knew I had lost it. Are you sure it isn’t yours, Mavis? I’ve got my cord on.”

“Yes, but the cross must have dropped off,” said Mavis. “I have mine all right.”

And so it proved. Both little sisters wore these crosses, which were exactly alike. Ruby took hers from Winfried, and began examining it to see how it had got loose. Miss Hortensia came forward.

“It was very good of you to bring the little cross,” she said kindly; for something about the boy attracted her very much. “Ruby, my dear,” she went on half reprovingly. Ruby started and looked up. “I am sure you are very much obliged?”

“Oh yes, of course I am,” said the little girl carelessly. “It certainly was very sharp of you to find it,” she added with more interest.

“I can generally find things,” said Winfried quietly.

“Is there anything we can do for your grandfather?” asked Miss Hortensia. “I am sorry to hear he’s so ill.”

The boy shook his head; a sad look passed across his bright face.

“Yes,” he said, “he’s pretty bad sometimes. But some days he’s much better. He’s better to-day. There’s one thing he would like,” he went on, “he told me to ask you if some day the young ladies might come to see him; he said I might ask—”

Ruby interrupted—

“Why, how funny you are,” she said; “that was just what we wanted yesterday, and you wouldn’t let us go near the cottage. You said we’d startle him.”

“He was very tired yesterday,” said Winfried; “and you see he wasn’t looking for you.”

“He was chattering and laughing all the same—or somebody was,” said Ruby. “We heard them—don’t you remember?”

Winfried did not speak. But he did not seem vexed.

“I believe it was the mermaids after all,” Ruby went on. “Cousin Hortensia, if you let us go there the mermaids will steal us.”

“No, indeed,” exclaimed Winfried eagerly.

Miss Hortensia smiled at him.

“I am not afraid,” she said. “Tell your grandfather the young ladies shall certainly go to see him some day soon.”

“To-morrow,” said Mavis, speaking almost for the first time. “Oh, do say we may go to-morrow—it’s our half-holiday.”

“Very well,” said Miss Hortensia. “Are you sure you can find your way? I can send Ulrica with you.”

“Mayn’t I come to fetch the young ladies?” asked Winfried. “I know all the short cuts.”

“I should think you did,” laughed Ruby. “We told cousin Hortensia all about that queer path through the rocks.She’dnever seen it either.”

“I’ll take you quite as nice a way to-morrow,” said the boy composedly. “May I go now, please?” he added, turning to Miss Hortensia. “Grandfather may be wanting me, and thank you very much;” and in another moment he was gone.

Miss Hortensia was quite silent for a minute or two after he had left the room.

“Cousin,” began Ruby; but her cousin did not seem to hear. “Cousin,” repeated the child impatiently.

Miss Hortensia looked up as if awakened from a brown study.

“Did you speak, my dear?” she said.

“Yes, of course I did. I want you to say something about that queer boy. I suppose you think him very nice, or you wouldn’t let Mavis and me go to his cottage. You’re generally so frightened about us.”

“I do think he is a very nice boy,” said Miss Hortensia. “I am sure he is quite trustworthy.”

“Ibelieve he’s a bit of a fairy, and I’m sure his old grandfather’s a wizard,” murmured Ruby. “And I quite expect, as I said to Joan, that we shall be turned into sea-gulls or frogs if we go there.”

“I shouldn’t mind being a sea-gull,” said Mavis. “Not for a little while at least. Would you, cousin Hortensia?”

But Miss Hortensia had not been listening to their chatter.

“My dears,” she said suddenly, “I will tell you one reason why I should be glad for you sometimes to have Winfried as a companion if he is as good and manly as he seems. I have had a letter from your father, telling me of a new guest we are to expect. It is a cousin of yours—a little nephew of your father’s—your aunt Margaret’s son. He is an only child, and, your father fears, a good deal spoilt. He is coming here because his father is away at sea and his mother is ill and must be kept quiet, and Bertrand, it seems, is very noisy.”

“Bertrand,” repeated Ruby, “oh, I remember about him. I remember father telling us about him—he is a horrid boy, I know.”

“Your father did not call him a horrid boy, I’m sure,” said Miss Hortensia.

“No,” said Mavis, “he only said he was spoilt. And he said he was a pretty little boy, and nice in some ways.”

“Well, we must do our best to make him nicer,” said Miss Hortensia; “though I confess I feel a little uneasy—you have never been accustomed to rough bearish ways. And if Winfried can be with you sometimes he might help you with Bertrand.”

“When is he coming?” asked Ruby.

“Very soon, but I do not know the exact day. Now run off, my dears; there is time for you to have half an hour’s play in the garden before dinner.”

It was curious that of the two little girls Mavis seemed the more to dislike the idea of the expected guest.

“Ruby,” she said rather dolefully, “I do wish Bertrand weren’t coming. He’ll spoil everything, and we shan’t know what to do with him.”

“There’s not much to spoil that I see,” said Ruby.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, our nice quiet ways. Cousin Hortensia telling us stories and all that,” said Mavis. “And I’m sure Winfried won’t want to have to look after a rough, rude little boy. It’s quite different withus—Winfried likes us because we’re—ladies, you know, and gentle and nice to him.”

Ruby laughed.

“How you go on about Winfried—Winfried!” she said mockingly. “I think it’s a very good thing Bertrand is coming to put him down a bit—a common fisher-boy! I wonder at cousin Hortensia. I’m sure if father knew he wouldn’t be at all pleased, butI’mnot going to tell him. I mean to have some fun with Master Winfried before I have done with him, and I expect Bertrand will help me.”

“Ruby!” exclaimed Mavis, looking startled, “you don’t mean that you are going to play him any tricks?” Ruby only laughed again, more mockingly than before.

“I’d like to lock him up in the haunted room in the west turret one night,” she said. “I do hope he’d get a good fright.”

Mavis seemed to have recovered from her alarm.

“I don’t believe he’d mind the least scrap,” she said; “that shows you don’t understand him one bit. He’d like it; besides, you say yourself you think he’s a fairy boy, so why should he be afraid of fairies?”

“Nobody’s afraid offairies, you silly girl. But if cousin Hortensia saw anything in the turret—and I don’t believe she did,—it wasn’t a fairy, it was quite different—more a sort of witch, I suppose.”

“You’re always talking of witches and wizards,” retorted Mavis, who seemed to be picking up a spirit which rather astonished Ruby. “Ilike thinking of nicer things—angels and—oh Ruby!” she suddenly broke off, “do look here—oh, how lovely!” and stooping down she pointed to a thick cluster of turquoise blossoms, almost hidden in a corner beneath the shrubs. “Aren’tthey darlings? Really it’s enough to make one believe in fairies or kind spirits of some kind—to find forget-me-nots like these in November!” and she looked up at her sister with delight dancing in her eyes.

Even Ruby looked surprised.

“They are beauties,” she said; “and I’m almost sure they weren’t there yesterday. Didn’t we come round by here, Mavis?”

“Not till it was nearly dark. We ran in this way, you know, after we came out of Winfried’s path,” said Mavis.

“Oh, yes, I remember,” Ruby replied, and a half dreamy look stole over her face.

They were standing on the lower terrace. This side of the castle, as I have said, was much more sheltered and protected than the other, but still already in November it was bleak and bare. The evergreen shrubs had begun to look self-satisfied and important, as I think they always do in late autumn, when their fragile companions of the summer are shivering together in forlorn misery, or sinking slowly and sadly, leaf by leaf, brown and shrivelled, into the parent bosom of Mother Earth, always ready to receive and hide her poor children in their day of desolation. Nay, more, far more than that does she for them in her dark but loving embrace; not a leaf, not a tiniest twig is lost or mislaid—all, everything, is cared for and restored again, at the sun’s warm kiss to creep forth in ever fresh and renewed life and beauty. For all we see, children dear, is but a type, faint and shadowy, of the real things thatare.

Then a strange sort of irritation came over Ruby. The soft wondering expression so new to her disappeared, and she turned sharply to Mavis.

“Rubbish!” she said. “Of course they were there yesterday. But they shan’t be there to-morrow—here goes;” and she bent down to pick the little flowers.

Mavis stopped her with a cry.

“Don’t gather them, Ruby,” she said. “Poor little things, they might stay in their corner in peace, and we could come and look at them every day. They’d wither so soon in the house.”

Ruby laughed. She was much more careless than actually unkind, at least when kindness cost her little.

“Whata baby you are,” she said contemptuously. “You make as much fuss as when I wanted to take the thrush’s eggs last spring. Wouldn’t you like to give your dear Winfried a posy of them?”

“No,” Mavis answered, “he wouldn’t like us to gather them; there are so few and they do look so sweet.” The next day was clear and bright, but cold; evidently winter was coming now. But old Bertha had started the fires at last, as the date on which it was the rule at the castle for them to begin on was now past. So inside the house it was comfortable enough—in the inhabited part of it at least; though in the great unused rooms round the tiled hall, where all the furniture was shrouded in ghostly-looking linen covers, and up the echoing staircase, and up still higher in the turret-rooms where the wind whistled in at one window and out again at the opposite one, where Jack Frost’s pictures lasted the same on the panes for days at a time—dear, dear, itwascold, even Bertha herself allowed, when she had to make her weekly tour of inspection to see that all was right.

“I will ask Miss Hortensia not to let the little ladies play in the west turret this winter,” thought the old woman. “I’m sure it was there Miss Mavis caught her cold last Christmas. A good fire indeed! It’d take a week of bonfires to warm that room.”

But old Bertha was mistaken, as you will see. There was no thought of playing in the west turret this half-holiday, however, for it was the right sort of day for a bright winter walk. And while the afternoon was still young, Ruby and Mavis, warmly wrapt up in their fur-lined mantles and hoods, were racing downstairs to Winfried, who had come punctually and was waiting for them, so Ulrica had come in to say, at the door in the archway on the sea side of the castle.

“What are you here for?” was Ruby’s first greeting. “Why didn’t you come to the garden side? Aren’t you going to take us by the path between the rocks, down below the field?”

“No, Miss Ruby,” said the boy, his cap in his hand. “We’re going another way to-day. I think you will like it just as well. We must go down to the cove first.”

“Idon’t mind,” said Ruby, dancing on in front of the two others; “but I’m afraid Mavis has been dreaming of that nice cosy little path. She wouldn’t let me even look for the entrance to it yesterday; she said we should wait for you to show it us.”

“I think Miss Mavis will like to-day’s way just as well,” Winfried repeated.

They were some little distance down the cliff by this time. It was very clear and bright; for once, the waves, even though the tide was close up to the shore, seemed in a peaceful mood, and only as a distant murmur came the boom of their dashing against the rocks, round to the right beyond the little sheltered nook. Winfried stood still for a moment and gazed down seawards, shading his eyes with his hand, for winter though it was, the afternoon sunshine was almost dazzling.

“What is it? What are you looking for?” asked Ruby, coming back a step or two and standing beside him. “Do come on; it’s too cold to hang about.”

For once Winfried was less polite than usual. He did not answer Ruby, but turned to Mavis, who was a little behind.

“Do you see anything?” he asked.

And Mavis, following his eyes, answered, “Yes—there’s—oh, there’s a little boat drifting in—a tiny boat—is it drifting? No; there’s some one in it,—some one with a blue cloak; no, it must have been the waves just touching; the waves are so blue to-day.”

The boy gave a little sigh of satisfaction.

“I thought so,” he said. Then he sprang forward eagerly: “Come on,” he cried, “we mustn’t be late.”

Ruby followed, not too pleased.

“I’ve as good eyes as Mavis,” she said. “Why didn’t you ask me? I don’t believe there’s a boat at all.”

But even Ruby had to give in when in a few minutes they found themselves at the edge of the cove, on the little half-circle of sand which was all that the sea left uncovered at full tide. For therewasa boat, a most unmistakable and delightful boat, though scarcely larger than a sofa, and looking like a perfect toy as it rocked gently on the rippling water.

“Goodness!” said Ruby,—and it must be allowed that goodness is a prettier word than rubbish,—“how in the world did that boat come here? Did you bring it, Winfried? No, for if you had you wouldn’t have been looking to see if it had come. But is it your boat?”

“No,” answered the boy; “it’s lent me, on purpose for you and Miss Mavis. Get in, please.”

Ruby came forward, but hesitated.

“Are you sure it’s safe?” she said. “You know the sea is very rough—round there near the village. And this is such a very little boat.”

Winfried laughed.

“It’s as safe as—as the safest thing you can think of,” he said. “You’renot afraid, Miss Mavis.”

For all answer the little girl sprang into the boat; it danced under her feet, but she only laughed.

“Come on, Ruby,” she called out; “it’s lovely.”

Ruby stepped in cautiously. The little boat was most dainty and pretty. There were cushions for the little girls, and one or two soft rich coloured shawls, of a fashion and material such as they had never seen before.

“Dear me,” said Ruby, settling herself in the most comfortable place and drawing the pretty rugs round her, “what a nice little boat! Your friends must be very rich, Winfried. But I know what I know;” and she shook her head mysteriously.

“What do you mean, Ruby?” said Mavis.

Winfried was busy with his oars and did not seem to be attending to them. Ruby leant forward and whispered, close into her sister’s ear, “Mermaids!” Then seeing or thinking that the boy was not listening, she went on. “You know mermaidsarevery rich. They dive down into the shipwrecked vessels and fish up all the treasures. I daresay these shawls have come from some strange country, right over at the other side of the world. Indeed,somepeople say that the horrid things sing to make the sailors turn to look for them and get their ships all in among the rocks.”

Mavis looked puzzled.

“I don’t think that’smermaids,” she said. “There’s another name for those naughty, unkind creatures.”

“Syrens,” came Winfried’s voice from the other end of the boat. And he looked up with a smile at the little girls’ start of surprise. “Don’t be afraid,” he said, “my friends are neither mermaids nor syrens; you’re not going to be shipwrecked in this boat, I promise you.” Somehow the boy seemed to have gained a new kind of dignity now that the children were, so to say, his guests. Ruby said, “Thank you,” quite meekly and submissively for her.

Then they were all quite silent for a while, only the plash of Winfried’s oars broke the stillness. And somehow out there on the water it seemed to have grown warmer, at least the children felt conscious of neither cold nor heat, it was just perfectly pleasant. And the sun shone on mildly. There was a thorough feeling of “afternoon,” with its quiet and mystery and yet faint expectation, such as one seldom has except in summer.

“It is lovely,” said Mavis presently; “only I’m a little afraid I’m getting sleepy.”

“No, you needn’t be afraid,” said Winfried; and just as he said the words, Mavis started, as something flitted against her cheek.

“Ruby, Ruby!” she exclaimed, “did you see it? A butterfly—a blue butterfly—in November! Oh, where has it gone to?” and she gazed all round anxiously.

Chapter Five.The Fisherman’s Hut.”... There are things which through the gazing eyeReach the full soul and thrill it into love.”To my Child.Ruby burst out laughing.“You’ve been asleep and dreaming, you silly girl,” she said. “Winfried, do you hear? Mavis says a blue butterfly flew past.”“It kissed my cheek,” said Mavis.Winfried smiled: “It’s quite possible,” he said. Ruby was just turning upon him with her laughter, when something madeherjump in turn. Something cold and damp touched her hand: she had taken her glove off and was dabbling idly in the water.“Ugh,” she said, “I do believe that was a toad.” The laugh was against her now.“A toad, Ruby, out at sea! What are you thinking of?” said Mavis. “You needn’t make fun of my butterfly if you talk of toads.”“Well, it was something slimy and horrid like a toad,” said Ruby. “Perhaps it was only a fish. But whatever it was, I believe it was a trick of Winfried’s. I’m sure, positive sure, you’re a wizard, Winfried.”She was half in fun and half in earnest. But the boy took it quite composedly.“No, I’m not,” he said; “and no more is gran. But—people don’t understand, you see. If they see that one’s a bit different from others they’ve no words for it but wizard and uncanny, and they get frightened when it should be just the other way.”This was much more of a speech than the fisher-boy was in the habit of making. Both the children listened with interest.“How is your gran different from others?” asked Ruby.“You’ll see it in his face; at least, I think you will,” said Winfried. “But now I mustn’t talk, we’re close to the little creek.”He got the boat in most cleverly, to a very tiny creek, where was a little landing-place, and leading upwards from it a flight of steps cut in the rock.“How funny, how very funny we never saw this place before,” exclaimed the little girls. “Do you keep the boat here, Winfried?”“Sometimes,” he replied, “but not to-day. We won’t need it again.”He folded up the shawls and laid them neatly on the cushions, then he drew in the oars, and in another moment he had helped the children to get on shore, and all three had mounted several of the rock steps when Winfried called to them to stop for a moment.“Look down,” he said; and as he spoke, the little girls saw something moving there below where they had just landed. It was the little boat; calmly and steadily it was moving out to sea, though it had no sails, and the oars were lying just as Winfried had drawn them in.“Oh Winfried,” exclaimed Ruby; “the dear little boat, it’s drifting out, it will be lost. Can’t you jump into the water and drag it back?”“It’s all right,” said the boy. “It’s going home till it’s needed again. I only wanted you to see how quietly it goes off, once its business is done.”And he turned and began to whistle softly as he went on up the steps.“Now,” said Ruby, half triumphant and half frightened, in a whisper to Mavis, “now, can you say he’s not a wizard? I think cousin Hortensia was very silly to let us come with him, but it was all you, Mavis, going on about him so. If we’re not turned into toads or lizards before we get home, I—”“Butterflies would be nicer,” said Mavis, laughing.“I’ll ask Winfried and his gran to make me into a blue butterfly, and you can be a yellow one if you like.”She seemed to have caught something of Winfried’s happy confidence, Ruby looked at her in surprise, but it was mixed with anger. What she was going to have said I don’t know, for just then their guide called out again.“Here we are,” he said, “if you’ll stoop your heads a little;” and looking up, the children saw before them a narrow, low archway, at the entrance to which the steps stopped. Ruby hung back a little, but Mavis ran forward.“It’s all right, Ruby,” she called back; “and oh, what a pretty garden! Do come quick.”Ruby followed. It was only necessary to stoop for a moment or two, then she found herself beside her sister, and she could not help joining in her exclamation of pleasure. Somehow or other they had arrived at the back of the cottage, which at this side, they now saw, stood in a pretty and sheltered garden. Perhaps garden is hardly the word to use, for though there were flowers of more than one kind and plants, there were other things one does not often see in a garden. There were ever so many little bowers and grottoes, cleverly put together of different kinds of queerly-shaped and queerly-coloured fragments of rock; there were two or three basins hollowed out of the same stones, in which clear water sparkled, and brilliant seaweed of every shade, from delicate pink to blood-red crimson, glowed; there were shells of strange and wonderful form, and tints as many as those of the rainbow, arranged so that at a little distance they looked like groups of flowers—in short, Ruby was not far wrong when returning to her old idea, she whispered to Mavis, “It’s amermaid’sgarden.”“And I only hope,” she went on in the same tone, “we shan’t find that somehow or other he has got us down under the sea without our knowing.”Mavis broke into a merry laugh.“Don’t be afraid,” she said. “Look up; there’s the good old sun, smiling as usual, with no water between him and us. And see here, Ruby,” and she ran forward, “there are earth flower’s too, as well as sea ones.”She was right; on a border sheltered by the wall of the cottage were great masses of fern, still green and luxuriant, and here and there among them clumps, brilliantly blue, of the tender, loving forget-me-not.“It’sjustlike that bunch of it we found on our terrace,” said Mavis, joyfully. “I really could believe you had brought a root of it and planted it there for us, Winfried. I never saw such beauties.”“Gran loves it,” was all the boy said. Then he led them round to the front of the house, and opened the door for them to enter.Inside the cottage all was very plain, but very, very neat and clean. In an old-fashioned large wooden arm-chair by the fire sat old Adam. He looked very old, older than the children had expected, and a kind of awe came over them. His hair was white, but scarcely whiter than his face, his hands were unusually delicate and refined, though gnarled and knotted as are those of aged people. He looked up with a smile, for his sight was still good, as his visitors came in.“You will forgive my not standing up, my dear little ladies,” he said. “You see I am very old. It is good of you to come to see me. I have often seen you, oftener than you knew, since you were very tiny things.”“Have you lived here a long time, then?” asked Ruby.“It would seem a long time to you, though not to me,” he said with a smile. “And long ago before that, I knew your grandmother and the lady who takes care of you. When I was a young man, and a middle-aged man too for that matter, my home was where theirs was. So I remember your mother when she was as little as you.”“Oh, how nice,” exclaimed Mavis. “Was our mother like us, Mr Adam?”“You may be very like her if you wish,” he said kindly.But their attention was already distracted. On a small table, close beside the old man’s chair, in what at first sight looked like a delicate china cup, but was in reality a large and lovely shell, was a posy, freshly gathered apparently, of the same beautiful forget-me-nots.“Oh, these are out of your garden,” said Ruby; “how do you manage to make them grow so well and so late in the year?”“The part of the garden where they grow is not mine,” said Adam quietly; “it belongs to a friend who tends it herself. I could not succeed as she does.”“Is—is she a mermaid?” asked Ruby, her eyes growing very round.“No, my dear. Mermaids’ flowers, if they have any, would scarcely be like these, I think.”“You speak as if there are no such things as mermaids; do you not think there are?” said Mavis.Old Adam shook his head.“I have never seen one; but I would never take upon myself to say there is nothing but what I’ve seen.”“Tell us about the friend who plants these in your garden,” said Ruby, touching the forget-me-nots. “Could it have been she who put some on the terrace at the castle for us?”“Maybe,” said the old man.“Is she a lady, or—or a fairy, or what is she, if she’s not a mermaid?” asked Ruby.Before the old man could answer, Winfried’s voice made her start in surprise.“She’s a princess,” he said; and he smiled all over his face when he saw Ruby’s astonishment.“Oh!” was all she said, but her manner became more respectful to both Adam and his grandson from that moment.Then the old man made a sign to Winfried, and the boy went out of the room, coming back in a moment with a little plain wooden tray, on which were two glasses of rich tempting-looking milk and a basket of cakes, brown and crisp, of a kind the children had never seen before. He set the tray down on a table which stood in the window, and Adam begged the children to help themselves.They did so gladly. Never had cake and milk tasted so delicious. Ruby felt rather small when she thought of her condescending offer of soup from the Castle kitchen.“But then,” she reflected, “of course I didn’t know—how could I?—that a princess comes to see them. I daresay she sends them these delicious cakes. I wish Bertha could make some like them.”“I never saw cakes like these before,” said little Mavis. “They aresogood.”Old Adam seemed pleased.“My boy isn’t a bad cook,” he said proudly, with a glance at Winfried.“Didyoumake them?” said Ruby, staring at Winfried. “I thought perhaps as a princess comes to see you thatshesent you them—they are so very good.”Winfried could not help laughing: something in Ruby’s speech seemed to him so comical.Then at the little girls’ request he took them out again to examine some of the wonders of the grotto-garden. He fished out some lovely sprays of seaweed for them, and gave them also several of the prettiest shells; best of all, he gathered a sweet nosegay of the forget-me-nots, which Mavis said she would take home to cousin Hortensia. And then, as the sun by this time had travelled a long way downwards, they ran in to bid old Adam good-bye, and to thank him, before setting off homewards.“How are we going?” asked Ruby. “You’ve sent away the boat.”“I could call it back again, but I think we had better go a shorter way,” said Winfried. “You’re not frightened of a little bit of the dark, are you? There’s a nice short cut to the rock path through one of the arbours.”The little girls followed him, feeling very curious, and, perhaps, just a tiny scrap afraid. He led them into one of the grottoes, which, to their surprise, they found a good deal larger than they had expected, for it lengthened out at the back into a sort of cave. This cave was too dark for them to see its size, but Winfried plunged fearlessly into its recesses.“I must see that the way is clear,” he said, as he left them; “wait where you are for a few minutes.”Ruby was not very pleased at being treated so unceremoniously.“I don’t call waiting here a quick way of getting home,” she said, “and I hate the dark. I’ve a good mind to run out and go back the regular way, Mavis.”“Oh no,” Mavis was beginning, but just then both children started. It seemed to have grown suddenly dark outside, as if a cloud or mist had come over the sky; and as they gazed out, feeling rather bewildered, a clear voice sounded through the grotto.“Ruby; Mavis,” it said.Ruby turned to Mavis.“It’s a trick of that boy’s,” she said. “He wants to startle us. He has no business to call us by out names like that. I’ll not stay;” and she ran out. Mavis was following her to bring her back when a ray of light—scarcely a ray, rather, I should say, a soft glow—seemed to fill the entrance to the grotto. And gradually, as her eyes got used to it, she distinguished a lovely figure—a lady, with soft silvery-blue garments floating round her and a sweet grave face, was standing there looking at her. A strange thrill passed through the child, yet even as she felt it she knew it was not a thrill of fear. And something seemed to draw her eyes upwards—a touch she could not have resisted if she had wished—till they found their resting-place in meeting those that were bent upon her—those beautiful, wonderful blue eyes, eyes like none she had ever seen, or—nay, she hadheardof such eyes—they were like those of the fairy lady in her old cousin’s dream. And now Mavis knew in part why the strange vision didnotseem strange to her; why, rather, she felt as if she had always known it would come, as if all her life she had been expecting this moment.“Mavis,” said the soft yet clear and thrilling voice, “you see me, my child?”“Yes,” said the little girl, speaking steadily, though in a whisper, “I see you, and I see your eyes. Who are you? I may ask you, may I not?”The fairy—if fairy she was—smiled.“I have many names,” she said; “but if you like you may think of me by the one Winfried loves. He calls me ‘Princess with the Forget-me-not Eyes,’ or ‘Princess Forget-me-not.’”“Yes,” said Mavis, “I like that; and I will never forget you, princess.”Again the lovely vision smiled.“No, my child, you never will, for, to tell you a secret, you cannot, even if you wished. Afterwards, when you knowmebetter, you will see how well my name suits me. But it does not seem to all a sweet name, as I think it always will to you,” and she sighed a little. “There are those who long to forget me; those who wish they had never seen me.”The sadness in her eyes was reflected in the child’s.“How can that be?” asked Mavis.The blue-eyed princess shook her head.“Nay, my darling, I cannot tell you, and I scarce would if I could,” she said gently. But then a brighter look came over her face again, “Don’t look so sad. They change again some of them, and seek me as earnestly as they would have before fled from me. And some day you may help and guide such seekers, simple as you are, my little Mavis. Now I must go—call Ruby—she would not stay for me; she has not yet seen me. But she heard my voice, that is better than nothing. Good-bye, little Mavis, and if you want me again before I come of myself, seek me in the west turret.”Mavis’s face lighted up.“Then itwasyou—you are cousin Hortensia’s fairy, and it wasn’t a dream after all. And of course you must be a fairy, for that was ever, ever so long ago. She was a little girl then, and now she is quite old, and you look as young as—as—”“As who or what?” asked the princess, smiling again.“As the Sleeping Beauty in the wood,” replied Mavis, after deep consideration.At this the princess did more than smile; she laughed,—the same clear delicate laugh which the children had heard that day in the distance.And Mavis laughed too; she could not help it.“May I tell cousin Hortensia?” she asked. “Oh do say I may.”“You may,” said Forget-me-not, “if—if youcan!”And while Mavis was wondering what she meant, a breath of soft wind seemed to blow past her, and glancing up, the princess was gone!Mavis rubbed her eyes. Had she been asleep? It seemed a long time since Winfried told her and Ruby to wait for him in the grotto; and where was Ruby? Why did she not come back? Mavis began to feel uneasy. Surely she had been asleep—for—was she asleep still? Looking round her, she saw that she was no longer in the grotto-cave behind old Adam’s cottage, but standing in the archway at the sea side of the castle—the archway I have told you of into which opened the principal entrance to the grim old building. And as she stood there, silent and perplexed, uncertain whether she was not still dreaming, she heard voices coming near. The first she could distinguish was Ruby’s.“There you are, Mavis, I declare,” she exclaimed. “Now it’s too bad of you to have run on so fast without telling, and I’ve been fussing about you all the way home, though Winfried said he was sure we should find you here. Howdidyou get back?”“How didyou?” asked Mavis in return. “And why didn’t you come back to me in the grotto? I—I waited ever so long, and then—” but that was all she could say, though a smile broke over her face when she thought of what she had seen.“You look as if you had been asleep,” said Ruby impatiently.“And having pleasant dreams,” added Winfried. “But all’s well that ends well. Won’t you run in now, my little ladies, and let Miss Hortensia see that I’ve brought you safe back. It is cold and dark standing out here, and I must be off home.”“Good-night then,” said Ruby; “you’re a very queer boy, but you broughtmehome all right any way, and those cakes were very good.”“You will come to see us soon again, won’t you, Winfried?” said Mavis, who felt as if she had a great deal to ask which only he could answer, though with Ruby there beside her she could not have explained what she wanted to know.“To be sure I will, if you want me,” said the boy.“Don’t be puzzled, Miss Mavis, pleasant dreams don’t do any one harm.”And as they pushed open the great, nail-studded door which was never locked till after nightfall Winfried ran off.They stood still for a moment just inside the entrance. They could hear him whistling as he went, smoothly at first, then it seemed to come in jerks, going on for a moment or two and then suddenly stopping, to begin again as suddenly.“He’s jumping down the cliff. I can hear it by his whistle,” said Ruby. “How dangerous!”“He’s very sure-footed,” said Mavis with a little sigh. She was feeling tired—and—wasit a dream? If so, how had she got home? Had the fairy lady wrapped her round in her cloak of mist and flown with her to the castle? Mavis could not tell, and somehow Ruby did not ask her again.“How did you come home, Ruby?” Mavis asked as they were going along the passage to their sitting-room.“Oh,” said Ruby, “Winfried took me down some steps, and then up some others, and before I knew where we were, we were in the rock path not far from home. It was like magic. I can’t make out that boy,” she said mysteriously; “but we’re not turned into frogs or toadsyet. Here we are, cousin Hortensia,” she went on, as the good lady suddenly appeared at the end of the passage, “safe home from the wizard’s haunts.”But Miss Hortensia only smiled.“I was not uneasy,” she said. “I thought you would be quite safe.”

”... There are things which through the gazing eyeReach the full soul and thrill it into love.”To my Child.

”... There are things which through the gazing eyeReach the full soul and thrill it into love.”To my Child.

Ruby burst out laughing.

“You’ve been asleep and dreaming, you silly girl,” she said. “Winfried, do you hear? Mavis says a blue butterfly flew past.”

“It kissed my cheek,” said Mavis.

Winfried smiled: “It’s quite possible,” he said. Ruby was just turning upon him with her laughter, when something madeherjump in turn. Something cold and damp touched her hand: she had taken her glove off and was dabbling idly in the water.

“Ugh,” she said, “I do believe that was a toad.” The laugh was against her now.

“A toad, Ruby, out at sea! What are you thinking of?” said Mavis. “You needn’t make fun of my butterfly if you talk of toads.”

“Well, it was something slimy and horrid like a toad,” said Ruby. “Perhaps it was only a fish. But whatever it was, I believe it was a trick of Winfried’s. I’m sure, positive sure, you’re a wizard, Winfried.”

She was half in fun and half in earnest. But the boy took it quite composedly.

“No, I’m not,” he said; “and no more is gran. But—people don’t understand, you see. If they see that one’s a bit different from others they’ve no words for it but wizard and uncanny, and they get frightened when it should be just the other way.”

This was much more of a speech than the fisher-boy was in the habit of making. Both the children listened with interest.

“How is your gran different from others?” asked Ruby.

“You’ll see it in his face; at least, I think you will,” said Winfried. “But now I mustn’t talk, we’re close to the little creek.”

He got the boat in most cleverly, to a very tiny creek, where was a little landing-place, and leading upwards from it a flight of steps cut in the rock.

“How funny, how very funny we never saw this place before,” exclaimed the little girls. “Do you keep the boat here, Winfried?”

“Sometimes,” he replied, “but not to-day. We won’t need it again.”

He folded up the shawls and laid them neatly on the cushions, then he drew in the oars, and in another moment he had helped the children to get on shore, and all three had mounted several of the rock steps when Winfried called to them to stop for a moment.

“Look down,” he said; and as he spoke, the little girls saw something moving there below where they had just landed. It was the little boat; calmly and steadily it was moving out to sea, though it had no sails, and the oars were lying just as Winfried had drawn them in.

“Oh Winfried,” exclaimed Ruby; “the dear little boat, it’s drifting out, it will be lost. Can’t you jump into the water and drag it back?”

“It’s all right,” said the boy. “It’s going home till it’s needed again. I only wanted you to see how quietly it goes off, once its business is done.”

And he turned and began to whistle softly as he went on up the steps.

“Now,” said Ruby, half triumphant and half frightened, in a whisper to Mavis, “now, can you say he’s not a wizard? I think cousin Hortensia was very silly to let us come with him, but it was all you, Mavis, going on about him so. If we’re not turned into toads or lizards before we get home, I—”

“Butterflies would be nicer,” said Mavis, laughing.

“I’ll ask Winfried and his gran to make me into a blue butterfly, and you can be a yellow one if you like.”

She seemed to have caught something of Winfried’s happy confidence, Ruby looked at her in surprise, but it was mixed with anger. What she was going to have said I don’t know, for just then their guide called out again.

“Here we are,” he said, “if you’ll stoop your heads a little;” and looking up, the children saw before them a narrow, low archway, at the entrance to which the steps stopped. Ruby hung back a little, but Mavis ran forward.

“It’s all right, Ruby,” she called back; “and oh, what a pretty garden! Do come quick.”

Ruby followed. It was only necessary to stoop for a moment or two, then she found herself beside her sister, and she could not help joining in her exclamation of pleasure. Somehow or other they had arrived at the back of the cottage, which at this side, they now saw, stood in a pretty and sheltered garden. Perhaps garden is hardly the word to use, for though there were flowers of more than one kind and plants, there were other things one does not often see in a garden. There were ever so many little bowers and grottoes, cleverly put together of different kinds of queerly-shaped and queerly-coloured fragments of rock; there were two or three basins hollowed out of the same stones, in which clear water sparkled, and brilliant seaweed of every shade, from delicate pink to blood-red crimson, glowed; there were shells of strange and wonderful form, and tints as many as those of the rainbow, arranged so that at a little distance they looked like groups of flowers—in short, Ruby was not far wrong when returning to her old idea, she whispered to Mavis, “It’s amermaid’sgarden.”

“And I only hope,” she went on in the same tone, “we shan’t find that somehow or other he has got us down under the sea without our knowing.”

Mavis broke into a merry laugh.

“Don’t be afraid,” she said. “Look up; there’s the good old sun, smiling as usual, with no water between him and us. And see here, Ruby,” and she ran forward, “there are earth flower’s too, as well as sea ones.”

She was right; on a border sheltered by the wall of the cottage were great masses of fern, still green and luxuriant, and here and there among them clumps, brilliantly blue, of the tender, loving forget-me-not.

“It’sjustlike that bunch of it we found on our terrace,” said Mavis, joyfully. “I really could believe you had brought a root of it and planted it there for us, Winfried. I never saw such beauties.”

“Gran loves it,” was all the boy said. Then he led them round to the front of the house, and opened the door for them to enter.

Inside the cottage all was very plain, but very, very neat and clean. In an old-fashioned large wooden arm-chair by the fire sat old Adam. He looked very old, older than the children had expected, and a kind of awe came over them. His hair was white, but scarcely whiter than his face, his hands were unusually delicate and refined, though gnarled and knotted as are those of aged people. He looked up with a smile, for his sight was still good, as his visitors came in.

“You will forgive my not standing up, my dear little ladies,” he said. “You see I am very old. It is good of you to come to see me. I have often seen you, oftener than you knew, since you were very tiny things.”

“Have you lived here a long time, then?” asked Ruby.

“It would seem a long time to you, though not to me,” he said with a smile. “And long ago before that, I knew your grandmother and the lady who takes care of you. When I was a young man, and a middle-aged man too for that matter, my home was where theirs was. So I remember your mother when she was as little as you.”

“Oh, how nice,” exclaimed Mavis. “Was our mother like us, Mr Adam?”

“You may be very like her if you wish,” he said kindly.

But their attention was already distracted. On a small table, close beside the old man’s chair, in what at first sight looked like a delicate china cup, but was in reality a large and lovely shell, was a posy, freshly gathered apparently, of the same beautiful forget-me-nots.

“Oh, these are out of your garden,” said Ruby; “how do you manage to make them grow so well and so late in the year?”

“The part of the garden where they grow is not mine,” said Adam quietly; “it belongs to a friend who tends it herself. I could not succeed as she does.”

“Is—is she a mermaid?” asked Ruby, her eyes growing very round.

“No, my dear. Mermaids’ flowers, if they have any, would scarcely be like these, I think.”

“You speak as if there are no such things as mermaids; do you not think there are?” said Mavis.

Old Adam shook his head.

“I have never seen one; but I would never take upon myself to say there is nothing but what I’ve seen.”

“Tell us about the friend who plants these in your garden,” said Ruby, touching the forget-me-nots. “Could it have been she who put some on the terrace at the castle for us?”

“Maybe,” said the old man.

“Is she a lady, or—or a fairy, or what is she, if she’s not a mermaid?” asked Ruby.

Before the old man could answer, Winfried’s voice made her start in surprise.

“She’s a princess,” he said; and he smiled all over his face when he saw Ruby’s astonishment.

“Oh!” was all she said, but her manner became more respectful to both Adam and his grandson from that moment.

Then the old man made a sign to Winfried, and the boy went out of the room, coming back in a moment with a little plain wooden tray, on which were two glasses of rich tempting-looking milk and a basket of cakes, brown and crisp, of a kind the children had never seen before. He set the tray down on a table which stood in the window, and Adam begged the children to help themselves.

They did so gladly. Never had cake and milk tasted so delicious. Ruby felt rather small when she thought of her condescending offer of soup from the Castle kitchen.

“But then,” she reflected, “of course I didn’t know—how could I?—that a princess comes to see them. I daresay she sends them these delicious cakes. I wish Bertha could make some like them.”

“I never saw cakes like these before,” said little Mavis. “They aresogood.”

Old Adam seemed pleased.

“My boy isn’t a bad cook,” he said proudly, with a glance at Winfried.

“Didyoumake them?” said Ruby, staring at Winfried. “I thought perhaps as a princess comes to see you thatshesent you them—they are so very good.”

Winfried could not help laughing: something in Ruby’s speech seemed to him so comical.

Then at the little girls’ request he took them out again to examine some of the wonders of the grotto-garden. He fished out some lovely sprays of seaweed for them, and gave them also several of the prettiest shells; best of all, he gathered a sweet nosegay of the forget-me-nots, which Mavis said she would take home to cousin Hortensia. And then, as the sun by this time had travelled a long way downwards, they ran in to bid old Adam good-bye, and to thank him, before setting off homewards.

“How are we going?” asked Ruby. “You’ve sent away the boat.”

“I could call it back again, but I think we had better go a shorter way,” said Winfried. “You’re not frightened of a little bit of the dark, are you? There’s a nice short cut to the rock path through one of the arbours.”

The little girls followed him, feeling very curious, and, perhaps, just a tiny scrap afraid. He led them into one of the grottoes, which, to their surprise, they found a good deal larger than they had expected, for it lengthened out at the back into a sort of cave. This cave was too dark for them to see its size, but Winfried plunged fearlessly into its recesses.

“I must see that the way is clear,” he said, as he left them; “wait where you are for a few minutes.”

Ruby was not very pleased at being treated so unceremoniously.

“I don’t call waiting here a quick way of getting home,” she said, “and I hate the dark. I’ve a good mind to run out and go back the regular way, Mavis.”

“Oh no,” Mavis was beginning, but just then both children started. It seemed to have grown suddenly dark outside, as if a cloud or mist had come over the sky; and as they gazed out, feeling rather bewildered, a clear voice sounded through the grotto.

“Ruby; Mavis,” it said.

Ruby turned to Mavis.

“It’s a trick of that boy’s,” she said. “He wants to startle us. He has no business to call us by out names like that. I’ll not stay;” and she ran out. Mavis was following her to bring her back when a ray of light—scarcely a ray, rather, I should say, a soft glow—seemed to fill the entrance to the grotto. And gradually, as her eyes got used to it, she distinguished a lovely figure—a lady, with soft silvery-blue garments floating round her and a sweet grave face, was standing there looking at her. A strange thrill passed through the child, yet even as she felt it she knew it was not a thrill of fear. And something seemed to draw her eyes upwards—a touch she could not have resisted if she had wished—till they found their resting-place in meeting those that were bent upon her—those beautiful, wonderful blue eyes, eyes like none she had ever seen, or—nay, she hadheardof such eyes—they were like those of the fairy lady in her old cousin’s dream. And now Mavis knew in part why the strange vision didnotseem strange to her; why, rather, she felt as if she had always known it would come, as if all her life she had been expecting this moment.

“Mavis,” said the soft yet clear and thrilling voice, “you see me, my child?”

“Yes,” said the little girl, speaking steadily, though in a whisper, “I see you, and I see your eyes. Who are you? I may ask you, may I not?”

The fairy—if fairy she was—smiled.

“I have many names,” she said; “but if you like you may think of me by the one Winfried loves. He calls me ‘Princess with the Forget-me-not Eyes,’ or ‘Princess Forget-me-not.’”

“Yes,” said Mavis, “I like that; and I will never forget you, princess.”

Again the lovely vision smiled.

“No, my child, you never will, for, to tell you a secret, you cannot, even if you wished. Afterwards, when you knowmebetter, you will see how well my name suits me. But it does not seem to all a sweet name, as I think it always will to you,” and she sighed a little. “There are those who long to forget me; those who wish they had never seen me.”

The sadness in her eyes was reflected in the child’s.

“How can that be?” asked Mavis.

The blue-eyed princess shook her head.

“Nay, my darling, I cannot tell you, and I scarce would if I could,” she said gently. But then a brighter look came over her face again, “Don’t look so sad. They change again some of them, and seek me as earnestly as they would have before fled from me. And some day you may help and guide such seekers, simple as you are, my little Mavis. Now I must go—call Ruby—she would not stay for me; she has not yet seen me. But she heard my voice, that is better than nothing. Good-bye, little Mavis, and if you want me again before I come of myself, seek me in the west turret.”

Mavis’s face lighted up.

“Then itwasyou—you are cousin Hortensia’s fairy, and it wasn’t a dream after all. And of course you must be a fairy, for that was ever, ever so long ago. She was a little girl then, and now she is quite old, and you look as young as—as—”

“As who or what?” asked the princess, smiling again.

“As the Sleeping Beauty in the wood,” replied Mavis, after deep consideration.

At this the princess did more than smile; she laughed,—the same clear delicate laugh which the children had heard that day in the distance.

And Mavis laughed too; she could not help it.

“May I tell cousin Hortensia?” she asked. “Oh do say I may.”

“You may,” said Forget-me-not, “if—if youcan!”

And while Mavis was wondering what she meant, a breath of soft wind seemed to blow past her, and glancing up, the princess was gone!

Mavis rubbed her eyes. Had she been asleep? It seemed a long time since Winfried told her and Ruby to wait for him in the grotto; and where was Ruby? Why did she not come back? Mavis began to feel uneasy. Surely she had been asleep—for—was she asleep still? Looking round her, she saw that she was no longer in the grotto-cave behind old Adam’s cottage, but standing in the archway at the sea side of the castle—the archway I have told you of into which opened the principal entrance to the grim old building. And as she stood there, silent and perplexed, uncertain whether she was not still dreaming, she heard voices coming near. The first she could distinguish was Ruby’s.

“There you are, Mavis, I declare,” she exclaimed. “Now it’s too bad of you to have run on so fast without telling, and I’ve been fussing about you all the way home, though Winfried said he was sure we should find you here. Howdidyou get back?”

“How didyou?” asked Mavis in return. “And why didn’t you come back to me in the grotto? I—I waited ever so long, and then—” but that was all she could say, though a smile broke over her face when she thought of what she had seen.

“You look as if you had been asleep,” said Ruby impatiently.

“And having pleasant dreams,” added Winfried. “But all’s well that ends well. Won’t you run in now, my little ladies, and let Miss Hortensia see that I’ve brought you safe back. It is cold and dark standing out here, and I must be off home.”

“Good-night then,” said Ruby; “you’re a very queer boy, but you broughtmehome all right any way, and those cakes were very good.”

“You will come to see us soon again, won’t you, Winfried?” said Mavis, who felt as if she had a great deal to ask which only he could answer, though with Ruby there beside her she could not have explained what she wanted to know.

“To be sure I will, if you want me,” said the boy.

“Don’t be puzzled, Miss Mavis, pleasant dreams don’t do any one harm.”

And as they pushed open the great, nail-studded door which was never locked till after nightfall Winfried ran off.

They stood still for a moment just inside the entrance. They could hear him whistling as he went, smoothly at first, then it seemed to come in jerks, going on for a moment or two and then suddenly stopping, to begin again as suddenly.

“He’s jumping down the cliff. I can hear it by his whistle,” said Ruby. “How dangerous!”

“He’s very sure-footed,” said Mavis with a little sigh. She was feeling tired—and—wasit a dream? If so, how had she got home? Had the fairy lady wrapped her round in her cloak of mist and flown with her to the castle? Mavis could not tell, and somehow Ruby did not ask her again.

“How did you come home, Ruby?” Mavis asked as they were going along the passage to their sitting-room.

“Oh,” said Ruby, “Winfried took me down some steps, and then up some others, and before I knew where we were, we were in the rock path not far from home. It was like magic. I can’t make out that boy,” she said mysteriously; “but we’re not turned into frogs or toadsyet. Here we are, cousin Hortensia,” she went on, as the good lady suddenly appeared at the end of the passage, “safe home from the wizard’s haunts.”

But Miss Hortensia only smiled.

“I was not uneasy,” she said. “I thought you would be quite safe.”

Chapter Six.Bertrand.“But the unkind and the unruly,And the sort who eat unduly,Theirs is quite a different story.”Good and Bad Children: Louis Stevenson.They were just beginning tea, and Ruby’s tongue was going fast as she described to Miss Hortensia all that happened that afternoon, while Mavis sat half-dreamily wondering what the fairy lady had meant by saying she might tell her cousin about her “if shecould,” when there came a sudden and unusual sound that made them all start. It was the clanging of the great bell at the principal entrance on the south side—the entrance by which, you remember, all visitors, except those coming by sea, came to the castle.“Who can that be?” exclaimed Ruby, jumping up and looking very pleased—Ruby loved any excitement. “Can it be father? What fun if he’s come to surprise us! Only I hope he won’t have forgotten our presents. He generally asks us what we want before he comes.”Mavis had grown a little pale; somehow the things that Ruby was frightened of never alarmed her, and yet she was more easily startled by others that Ruby rather enjoyed.“I hope it isn’t a message to say that anything is the matter with dear father,” she said anxiously.Miss Hortensia got up from her seat and went to the door. She did not seem frightened, but still rather uneasy.“I’m afraid,” she began, “I’m afraid—and yet I should not speak of it that way; it is not kind. But I did so ask them to give us notice of his coming.” She had left the room almost before she had finished speaking. The children looked at each other.“I say, Mavis,” said Ruby, “it’s Bertrand! Don’t you think we might run out and see?”“No,” Mavis replied decidedly, “certainly not. Cousin Hortensia would have told us to come if she had wanted us.”But they went to the open door and stood close beside it, listening intently. Then came the sound of old Joseph’s steps along the stone passage from the part of the house which he and Bertha—Joseph was Bertha’s husband—inhabited, then the drawing back of the bolts and bars, and, most interesting and exciting of all, a noise of horses stamping and shaking their harness as if glad to have got to the end of their journey. Then followed voices; and in a minute or two the children heard Miss Hortensia coming back, speaking as she came.“You must be very cold, my dear boy, and hungry too,” she was saying. “We are just beginning tea, so you had better come in at once as you are.”“It’s terribly cold, and that fool of a driver wouldn’t come any faster; he said his horses were tired. I wishIcould have got a cut at them—what are horses for?” was the reply to Miss Hortensia’s kind speech.Mavis touched Ruby.“Come in. Cousin Hortensia wouldn’t like to see us standing at the door like this,” she said.They sat down at their places again, only getting up as Miss Hortensia came in.She was followed by a boy. He was about the height of the twins, broad and strong-looking, wrapped up in a rich fur-lined coat, and with a travelling cap of the same fur still on his head. He was dark-haired and dark-eyed, a handsome boy with a haughty, rather contemptuous expression of face—an expression winch it did not take much to turn into a scowl if he was annoyed or put out.“These are your cousins, Bertrand; your cousins Ruby and Mavis—you have heard of them, I am sure, though you have never met each other before.”Bertrand looked up coolly.“I knew there were girls here,” he answered. “Mother said so. But I don’t care for girls—I told mother so. I’m awfully hungry;” and he began to pull forward a chair.“My dear,” said Miss Hortensia, “do you know you have not taken off your cap yet? You must take off your coat too, but, above all, your cap.”Bertrand put up his hand and slowly drew off his cap.“Mother never minds,” he said. But there was a slight touch of apology in the words.Then, more for his own comfort evidently than out of any sense of courtesy, he pulled off his heavy coat and flung it on to a chair. The little girls had not yet spoken to him, they felt too much taken aback.“Perhaps he is shy and strange, and that makes him seem rough,” thought Mavis, and she began drawing forward another chair.“Will you sit here?” she was saying, when Bertrand pushed past her.“I’ll sit by the fire,” he said, and he calmly settled himself on what he could not but have seen was her seat or Ruby’s; “and I’m awfully hungry,” he went on.“At home I have dinner, at least if I want it, I do. It’s only fit for girls to have tea in this babyish way.”He helped himself to a large slice of cake as he spoke; and not content with this, he also put a big piece of butter on his plate. Miss Hortensia glanced at him, and was evidently just going to speak, but checked herself. It was Bertrand’s first evening, and she was a very hospitable person. But when Bertrand proceeded to butter his cake thickly, Ruby, never accustomed to control her tongue, burst out.“That’s cake, Bertrand,” she said. “People don’t buttercake.”“Don’t they just?” said the boy, speaking with his mouth full. “Ido, I know, and at home mother never minds.”“Does she let you do whatever you like?” asked Ruby.“Yes,” said Bertrand; “and whether she did or not I’d do it all the same.”Then he broke into a merry laugh. It was one of the few attractive things about him, beside his good looks, that laugh of his. It made him seem for the time a hearty, good-tempered child, and gave one the feeling that he did not really mean the things he said and did. And now that his hunger was appeased, and he was warm and comfortable, he became much more amiable. Ruby looked at him with admiration.“I wish I lived with your mother,” she said, “how nice it must be to do always just what one likes!”“Do you think so,” said Mavis. “I think it would be quite miserable.”“Quite right, Mavis,” said Miss Hortensia. “When I was a child I remember reading a story of a little girl who for a great treat one birthday was allowed to do just what she wanted all day, and—oh dear!—how unhappy she was before evening came.”Bertrand stared at her with his big eyes.Someeyes are very misleading; his looked now and then as if he had nothing but kind and beautiful thoughts behind them.“What a fool she must have been,” he said roughly. And poor Miss Hortensia’s heart sank.The evening was not a long one, for Bertrand was tired with his journey, and for once willing to do as he was told, by going to bed early. A room near his cousins’ had been preparing for him, and though not quite ready, a good fire made it look very cosy. They all went upstairs with him to show him the way. As they passed the great baize door which divided their wing from the rest of the house. Bertrand pushed it open.“What’s, through there?” he asked, in his usual unceremonious way.“Oh, all the rest of the castle,” said Ruby importantly.Bertrand peered through. It was like looking into a great church with all the lights out, for this door opened right upon the gallery running round the large hall.“What a ramshackle old cavern!” said Bertrand. A blast of cold air rushed in through the doorway as he spoke and made them all shiver.“Nonsense, Bertrand,” said Miss Hortensia, more sharply than she had yet spoken to him. “It is a splendid old house.”“You should see the staircases up to the turrets,” said Ruby. “They are as high as—as I don’t know what. If you are naughty we can put you to sleep in the west turret-room, and they say it’s haunted.”“Ishouldn’t mind that,” laughed Bertrand.“Nor should I,” said Ruby boastfully. “Mavis here is a dreadful coward. And—oh, Bertrand—I’ll tell you something to-morrow. I have such an idea. Don’t you love playing tricks on people—people who set themselves up, you know, and preach at you?” Her last words were almost whispered, and Miss Hortensia, who had gone on in front—they had closed the swing door by this time—did not hear them. But Mavis caught what Ruby said, and she waited uneasily for Bertrand’s answer.“Prigs, you mean,” he said. “I hate prigs. Yes, indeed, I’ll join you in any game of that kind. You should have seen how we served a little wretch at school who tried to stop us teaching a puppy to swim—such a joke—the puppy could scarcely walk, much less swim. So we took Master Prig and madehimswim instead. It was winter, and he caught a jolly cold, and had to leave school.”“Did he get better?” said Mavis, in a strange voice.“Don’t know, I’m sure. I should think not. His mother was too poor to pay for a doctor, they said. He’d no business to be at a school with gentlemen,” said Bertrand brutally.Mavis gasped. Then suddenly, without saying good-night to any one, she rushed down the passage to the room she shared with her sister; and there Ruby found her a few minutes later on her knees and all in the dark.“What’s the matter with you? Cousin Hortensia told me to say good-night to you for her. It wasn’t very civil to fly off like that the first night Bertrand was here. I’m sure cousin Hortensia thought so too,” said Ruby carelessly. “My goodness, are youcrying?” as the light she carried fell on Mavis’s tear-stained face.“Cousin Hortensia didn’thear,” said Mavis. “Oh, Ruby, I can’t bear it.”“What?”“That wicked boy. Oh, Ruby, you can’t say you like him?”“I think he’s lots of fun in him,” said Ruby wonderingly. “He’s only a boy; you are so queer, Mavis.” But catching sight again of her sister’s expression she suddenly changed. “Poor little Mavie,” she cried, throwing her arms round her, “you’re such a goose. You’re far too tender-hearted.”Mavis clung to her, sobbing.“Oh, Ruby, my Ruby,” she said, “don’t speak like that. I couldn’tbearyou to get hard and cruel.”But Ruby was, for her, wonderfully gentle and kind, and at last the two little sisters kissed each other, promising that nothing should ever come between them.A good night’s rest and a huge breakfast put Master Bertrand into a very fairly amiable humour the next morning. He flatly refused, however, to do any lessons, though it was intended that he should; and Miss Hortensia, judging it best to make a virtue of necessity, told him he should have his time to himself for three days, after which he must join the twins in the school-room.“For these three days,” she said, “I will give Ruby and Mavis a half-holiday, so that they may go about with you and show you everything. But if you do not come regularly and punctually to lessons after that, I will not give your cousins any extra holidays while you are here.”She spoke firmly, and Bertrand looked at her with surprise. He was surprised indeed into unusual meekness, for he said nothing but “All right.”They gave him some directions as to where he would be most likely to amuse himself and with safety. Indeed, unless one weredeterminedto hurt oneself, there were no really dangerous places about the castle; in spite of the cliffs and the sea, Ruby and Mavis had played there all their lives without ever getting into mischief.“He is not a stupid boy,” said Miss Hortensia, after giving her instructions to Bertrand, “and I have no doubt he can take care of himself if he likes.”“I’m sure he wouldn’t like to hurt himself,” said Ruby with a little contempt; “he’s the sort of boy that would hate pain or being ill.”“It is to be hoped nothing of that kind will happen while he is here,” said Miss Hortensia. “But I can only do my best. I did not seek the charge, and it would be quite impossible to shut him up in the house.”“He’d very likely try to get out of the window if you did, cousin Hortensia,” said Mavis with her gentle little laugh. She was feeling happy, for Ruby had continued kind and gentle this morning. “And if I were a boy I’m not sure but that I would too, if I were shut up.”“Well, let us get to our work,” said Miss Hortensia with a resigned little sigh.Lessons were over; Ruby and Mavis had had their usual morning run along the terrace, had brushed their hair and washed their hands, and were standing up while Miss Hortensia said grace before beginning dinner, when Bertrand appeared.He came banging in, his cap on his head, his boots wet and dirty, his cheeks flushed, and his eyes bright with running and excitement. He looked very pretty notwithstanding the untidy state he was in, but it was impossible to welcome him cordially; he was so rude and careless, leaving the door wide open, and bringing in a strong fishy smell, the reason of which was explained when he flung down a great mass of coarse slimy seaweed he had been carrying.“You nasty, dirty boy,” said Ruby, turning up her nose and sniffing.“Really, Bertrand, my dear,” began Miss Hortensia, “what have you brought that wet seaweed here for? It cannot stay in this room.”“I’ll take it away,” said Mavis, jumping up.“What harm does it do?” said Bertrand, sitting down sideways on his chair. “I want it. I say you’re not to go pitching it away, Mavis. Well when am I to have something to eat?”“Go and wash your hands and hang up your coat and come and sit straight at the table and then I will give you your dinner,” said Miss Hortensia drily.“Why can’t you give it me now?” said Bertrand, with the ugly scowl on his face.“Because I will not,” she replied decidedly.The roast meat looked very tempting, so did the tart on the sideboard. Bertrand lounged up out of his seat, and in a few minutes lounged back again. Eating generally put him into a better temper. When he had got through one plateful and was ready for another, he condescended to turn to his companions with a more sociable air.“I met a fellow down there—on the shore,” he said, jerking his head towards where he supposed the sea to be; “only a common chap, but he seems to know the place. He was inclined to be cheeky at first, but of course I soon put him down. I told him to be there this afternoon again; we might find him useful, now he knows his place.”Ruby’s eyes sparkled.“I’m very glad you did put him down,” she said. “All the same—” then she hesitated.“Do you know who he is?” asked Bertrand.“He’s the best and nicest and cleverest boy in all the world,” said little Mavis.Bertrand scowled at her and muttered something, of which “a dirty fisher-boy,” was all that was audible. Miss Hortensia’s presence did overawe him a little.“I am afraid there can be no question of any of you going out this afternoon,” she said, glancing out of the window as she spoke; “it is clouding over—all over. You must make up your minds to amuse yourselves indoors. You can show Bertrand over the house—that will take some time.”“May we go up into the turret-rooms and everywhere?” said Ruby.“Yes, if you don’t stay too long. It is not very cold, and you are sure to keep moving about. There—now comes the rain.”Come indeed it did, a regular battle of wind and water; one of the sudden storms one must often expect on the coast. But after the first outburst the sky grew somewhat lighter, and the wind went down a little, the rain settling into a steady, heavy pour that threatened to last several hours. For reasons of her own, Ruby set herself to coax Bertrand into a good humour, and she so far succeeded that he condescended to go all over the castle with them, even now and then expressing what was meant to be admiration and approval.“It isn’t ramshackle, any way,” said Ruby. “It’s one of the strongest built places far or near.”“If I were a man and a soldier, as I mean to be,” said Bertrand boastfully, “I’d like to cannonade it. You’d see how it’d come toppling over.”“You wouldn’t like to see it, I should think,” said Mavis. “It’s been the home of your grandfathers just as much as of ours. Don’t you know your mother is our father’s sister?”Bertrand stared at her.“What does it matter about old rubbishing grandfathers and stuff like that?” he said. “That was what that fisher-fellow began saying about the castle, as if it was any business of his.”“Yes indeed,” said Ruby, “he’s far too fond of giving his opinion.” She nodded her head mysteriously. “We’ll have a talk about him afterwards, Bertrand.”“Ruby,” began Mavis in distress; but Ruby pushed her aside.“Mind your own business,” she said, more rudely than Mavis had ever heard her speak.“It’s all Bertrand,” said Mavis to herself, feeling ready to cry. “I’m sure they are going to plan some very naughty unkind thing.”They were on their way up the turret-stair now; the west turret. They had already explored the other side. Suddenly a strange feeling came over Mavis; she had not been in this part of the castle since the adventure in the grotto.“She said she comes to the west turret still,” thought the child; “just as she did when cousin Hortensia was a little girl. I wonder if she only comes in the night? I wonder if possibly I shall see her ever up here? If I did, I think I would ask her to stop Bertrand making Ruby naughty. I am sure dear Princess Forget-me-notcouldmake anybody do anything she liked.”And she could not help having a curious feeling of expecting something, when Ruby, who was in front, threw open the turret-room door.“This is thehauntedroom, Bertrand,” she said, and there was a mocking tone in her voice. “At least so Mavis and cousin Hortensia believe. Cousin Hortensia can tell you a wonderful story of a night she spent here if you care to hear it.”Bertrand laughed contemptuously.“I’d like to see a ghost uncommonly,” he said.“It would take a good lot of them to frightenme.”“That’s what I say,” said Ruby. “But the room looks dingy enough, doesn’t it? I don’t think I ever saw it look so dingy before.”“It looks as if it was full of smoke,” said Bertrand, sniffing about; “but yet I don’t smell smoke.”Therewassomething strange. Mavis saw it too, and much more clearly than did the others. To her the room seemed filled with a soft blue haze; far from appearing “dingy,” as Ruby said, she thought the vague cloudiness beautiful; and as she looked, it became plain to her that the haze all came from one corner, where it almost seemed to take form, to thicken and yet to lighten; for there was a glow and radiance over there by the window that looked towards the setting sun that did not come from any outside gleam or brightness. No indeed. For the rain was pouring down, steadily and hopelessly, with dull pitiless monotony from a leaden sky. Scarcely could you picture to yourself a drearier scene than the unbroken grey above, and unbroken grey beneath, which was all there was to be seen from the castle that afternoon. Yet in Mavis’s eyes there was a light, a reflection of something beautiful and sunshiny, as she stood there gazing across the room, with an unspoken hope in her heart.The others did not see the look in her face, or they saw it wrong, Ruby especially, strange to say.“What are you gaping at, Mavis?” she said.“You do look so silly.”Bertrand stared at her in his turn.“She looks as if she was asleep, or dreaming,” he said curiously.Mavis rubbed her eyes.“No, no,” she said brightly, “I’m not.”And then she tried to be very kind and merry and pleasant to the others. She felt as if “somebody” was watching, and would be pleased. And Bertrand was a little bit gentler and softer than he had yet been, almost giving Mavis a feeling that in some faint far-off way the sweet influence was over him too.But Ruby was very contradictory. She ran about making fun of the old furniture and mocking at Miss Hortensia’s story till she got Bertrand to join with her, and both began boasting and talking very foolishly—worse than foolishly indeed. More than once Mavis caught words and hints which filled her with distress and anxiety. She knew, however, that when Ruby was in this kind of humour it was less than useless to say anything, now above all that she had got Bertrand to back her up.Suddenly the boy gave an impatient exclamation.“I hate this cock-loft,” he said. “It’s so stuffy and choky, and that smoke or mist has got into my eyes and makes them smart. Come along, Ruby, do.”“It’s not stuffy. I think it’s dreadfully cold,” she replied. “But I’m sure I don’t want to stay here. The mist’s quite gone—not that I ever saw any really; it was only with the room being shut up, I suppose. I’m quite ready to go; let’s run down and get a good warm at the school-room fire, and I’ll tell you something—a grand secret, Bertrand.”

“But the unkind and the unruly,And the sort who eat unduly,Theirs is quite a different story.”Good and Bad Children: Louis Stevenson.

“But the unkind and the unruly,And the sort who eat unduly,Theirs is quite a different story.”Good and Bad Children: Louis Stevenson.

They were just beginning tea, and Ruby’s tongue was going fast as she described to Miss Hortensia all that happened that afternoon, while Mavis sat half-dreamily wondering what the fairy lady had meant by saying she might tell her cousin about her “if shecould,” when there came a sudden and unusual sound that made them all start. It was the clanging of the great bell at the principal entrance on the south side—the entrance by which, you remember, all visitors, except those coming by sea, came to the castle.

“Who can that be?” exclaimed Ruby, jumping up and looking very pleased—Ruby loved any excitement. “Can it be father? What fun if he’s come to surprise us! Only I hope he won’t have forgotten our presents. He generally asks us what we want before he comes.”

Mavis had grown a little pale; somehow the things that Ruby was frightened of never alarmed her, and yet she was more easily startled by others that Ruby rather enjoyed.

“I hope it isn’t a message to say that anything is the matter with dear father,” she said anxiously.

Miss Hortensia got up from her seat and went to the door. She did not seem frightened, but still rather uneasy.

“I’m afraid,” she began, “I’m afraid—and yet I should not speak of it that way; it is not kind. But I did so ask them to give us notice of his coming.” She had left the room almost before she had finished speaking. The children looked at each other.

“I say, Mavis,” said Ruby, “it’s Bertrand! Don’t you think we might run out and see?”

“No,” Mavis replied decidedly, “certainly not. Cousin Hortensia would have told us to come if she had wanted us.”

But they went to the open door and stood close beside it, listening intently. Then came the sound of old Joseph’s steps along the stone passage from the part of the house which he and Bertha—Joseph was Bertha’s husband—inhabited, then the drawing back of the bolts and bars, and, most interesting and exciting of all, a noise of horses stamping and shaking their harness as if glad to have got to the end of their journey. Then followed voices; and in a minute or two the children heard Miss Hortensia coming back, speaking as she came.

“You must be very cold, my dear boy, and hungry too,” she was saying. “We are just beginning tea, so you had better come in at once as you are.”

“It’s terribly cold, and that fool of a driver wouldn’t come any faster; he said his horses were tired. I wishIcould have got a cut at them—what are horses for?” was the reply to Miss Hortensia’s kind speech.

Mavis touched Ruby.

“Come in. Cousin Hortensia wouldn’t like to see us standing at the door like this,” she said.

They sat down at their places again, only getting up as Miss Hortensia came in.

She was followed by a boy. He was about the height of the twins, broad and strong-looking, wrapped up in a rich fur-lined coat, and with a travelling cap of the same fur still on his head. He was dark-haired and dark-eyed, a handsome boy with a haughty, rather contemptuous expression of face—an expression winch it did not take much to turn into a scowl if he was annoyed or put out.

“These are your cousins, Bertrand; your cousins Ruby and Mavis—you have heard of them, I am sure, though you have never met each other before.”

Bertrand looked up coolly.

“I knew there were girls here,” he answered. “Mother said so. But I don’t care for girls—I told mother so. I’m awfully hungry;” and he began to pull forward a chair.

“My dear,” said Miss Hortensia, “do you know you have not taken off your cap yet? You must take off your coat too, but, above all, your cap.”

Bertrand put up his hand and slowly drew off his cap.

“Mother never minds,” he said. But there was a slight touch of apology in the words.

Then, more for his own comfort evidently than out of any sense of courtesy, he pulled off his heavy coat and flung it on to a chair. The little girls had not yet spoken to him, they felt too much taken aback.

“Perhaps he is shy and strange, and that makes him seem rough,” thought Mavis, and she began drawing forward another chair.

“Will you sit here?” she was saying, when Bertrand pushed past her.

“I’ll sit by the fire,” he said, and he calmly settled himself on what he could not but have seen was her seat or Ruby’s; “and I’m awfully hungry,” he went on.

“At home I have dinner, at least if I want it, I do. It’s only fit for girls to have tea in this babyish way.”

He helped himself to a large slice of cake as he spoke; and not content with this, he also put a big piece of butter on his plate. Miss Hortensia glanced at him, and was evidently just going to speak, but checked herself. It was Bertrand’s first evening, and she was a very hospitable person. But when Bertrand proceeded to butter his cake thickly, Ruby, never accustomed to control her tongue, burst out.

“That’s cake, Bertrand,” she said. “People don’t buttercake.”

“Don’t they just?” said the boy, speaking with his mouth full. “Ido, I know, and at home mother never minds.”

“Does she let you do whatever you like?” asked Ruby.

“Yes,” said Bertrand; “and whether she did or not I’d do it all the same.”

Then he broke into a merry laugh. It was one of the few attractive things about him, beside his good looks, that laugh of his. It made him seem for the time a hearty, good-tempered child, and gave one the feeling that he did not really mean the things he said and did. And now that his hunger was appeased, and he was warm and comfortable, he became much more amiable. Ruby looked at him with admiration.

“I wish I lived with your mother,” she said, “how nice it must be to do always just what one likes!”

“Do you think so,” said Mavis. “I think it would be quite miserable.”

“Quite right, Mavis,” said Miss Hortensia. “When I was a child I remember reading a story of a little girl who for a great treat one birthday was allowed to do just what she wanted all day, and—oh dear!—how unhappy she was before evening came.”

Bertrand stared at her with his big eyes.Someeyes are very misleading; his looked now and then as if he had nothing but kind and beautiful thoughts behind them.

“What a fool she must have been,” he said roughly. And poor Miss Hortensia’s heart sank.

The evening was not a long one, for Bertrand was tired with his journey, and for once willing to do as he was told, by going to bed early. A room near his cousins’ had been preparing for him, and though not quite ready, a good fire made it look very cosy. They all went upstairs with him to show him the way. As they passed the great baize door which divided their wing from the rest of the house. Bertrand pushed it open.

“What’s, through there?” he asked, in his usual unceremonious way.

“Oh, all the rest of the castle,” said Ruby importantly.

Bertrand peered through. It was like looking into a great church with all the lights out, for this door opened right upon the gallery running round the large hall.

“What a ramshackle old cavern!” said Bertrand. A blast of cold air rushed in through the doorway as he spoke and made them all shiver.

“Nonsense, Bertrand,” said Miss Hortensia, more sharply than she had yet spoken to him. “It is a splendid old house.”

“You should see the staircases up to the turrets,” said Ruby. “They are as high as—as I don’t know what. If you are naughty we can put you to sleep in the west turret-room, and they say it’s haunted.”

“Ishouldn’t mind that,” laughed Bertrand.

“Nor should I,” said Ruby boastfully. “Mavis here is a dreadful coward. And—oh, Bertrand—I’ll tell you something to-morrow. I have such an idea. Don’t you love playing tricks on people—people who set themselves up, you know, and preach at you?” Her last words were almost whispered, and Miss Hortensia, who had gone on in front—they had closed the swing door by this time—did not hear them. But Mavis caught what Ruby said, and she waited uneasily for Bertrand’s answer.

“Prigs, you mean,” he said. “I hate prigs. Yes, indeed, I’ll join you in any game of that kind. You should have seen how we served a little wretch at school who tried to stop us teaching a puppy to swim—such a joke—the puppy could scarcely walk, much less swim. So we took Master Prig and madehimswim instead. It was winter, and he caught a jolly cold, and had to leave school.”

“Did he get better?” said Mavis, in a strange voice.

“Don’t know, I’m sure. I should think not. His mother was too poor to pay for a doctor, they said. He’d no business to be at a school with gentlemen,” said Bertrand brutally.

Mavis gasped. Then suddenly, without saying good-night to any one, she rushed down the passage to the room she shared with her sister; and there Ruby found her a few minutes later on her knees and all in the dark.

“What’s the matter with you? Cousin Hortensia told me to say good-night to you for her. It wasn’t very civil to fly off like that the first night Bertrand was here. I’m sure cousin Hortensia thought so too,” said Ruby carelessly. “My goodness, are youcrying?” as the light she carried fell on Mavis’s tear-stained face.

“Cousin Hortensia didn’thear,” said Mavis. “Oh, Ruby, I can’t bear it.”

“What?”

“That wicked boy. Oh, Ruby, you can’t say you like him?”

“I think he’s lots of fun in him,” said Ruby wonderingly. “He’s only a boy; you are so queer, Mavis.” But catching sight again of her sister’s expression she suddenly changed. “Poor little Mavie,” she cried, throwing her arms round her, “you’re such a goose. You’re far too tender-hearted.”

Mavis clung to her, sobbing.

“Oh, Ruby, my Ruby,” she said, “don’t speak like that. I couldn’tbearyou to get hard and cruel.”

But Ruby was, for her, wonderfully gentle and kind, and at last the two little sisters kissed each other, promising that nothing should ever come between them.

A good night’s rest and a huge breakfast put Master Bertrand into a very fairly amiable humour the next morning. He flatly refused, however, to do any lessons, though it was intended that he should; and Miss Hortensia, judging it best to make a virtue of necessity, told him he should have his time to himself for three days, after which he must join the twins in the school-room.

“For these three days,” she said, “I will give Ruby and Mavis a half-holiday, so that they may go about with you and show you everything. But if you do not come regularly and punctually to lessons after that, I will not give your cousins any extra holidays while you are here.”

She spoke firmly, and Bertrand looked at her with surprise. He was surprised indeed into unusual meekness, for he said nothing but “All right.”

They gave him some directions as to where he would be most likely to amuse himself and with safety. Indeed, unless one weredeterminedto hurt oneself, there were no really dangerous places about the castle; in spite of the cliffs and the sea, Ruby and Mavis had played there all their lives without ever getting into mischief.

“He is not a stupid boy,” said Miss Hortensia, after giving her instructions to Bertrand, “and I have no doubt he can take care of himself if he likes.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t like to hurt himself,” said Ruby with a little contempt; “he’s the sort of boy that would hate pain or being ill.”

“It is to be hoped nothing of that kind will happen while he is here,” said Miss Hortensia. “But I can only do my best. I did not seek the charge, and it would be quite impossible to shut him up in the house.”

“He’d very likely try to get out of the window if you did, cousin Hortensia,” said Mavis with her gentle little laugh. She was feeling happy, for Ruby had continued kind and gentle this morning. “And if I were a boy I’m not sure but that I would too, if I were shut up.”

“Well, let us get to our work,” said Miss Hortensia with a resigned little sigh.

Lessons were over; Ruby and Mavis had had their usual morning run along the terrace, had brushed their hair and washed their hands, and were standing up while Miss Hortensia said grace before beginning dinner, when Bertrand appeared.

He came banging in, his cap on his head, his boots wet and dirty, his cheeks flushed, and his eyes bright with running and excitement. He looked very pretty notwithstanding the untidy state he was in, but it was impossible to welcome him cordially; he was so rude and careless, leaving the door wide open, and bringing in a strong fishy smell, the reason of which was explained when he flung down a great mass of coarse slimy seaweed he had been carrying.

“You nasty, dirty boy,” said Ruby, turning up her nose and sniffing.

“Really, Bertrand, my dear,” began Miss Hortensia, “what have you brought that wet seaweed here for? It cannot stay in this room.”

“I’ll take it away,” said Mavis, jumping up.

“What harm does it do?” said Bertrand, sitting down sideways on his chair. “I want it. I say you’re not to go pitching it away, Mavis. Well when am I to have something to eat?”

“Go and wash your hands and hang up your coat and come and sit straight at the table and then I will give you your dinner,” said Miss Hortensia drily.

“Why can’t you give it me now?” said Bertrand, with the ugly scowl on his face.

“Because I will not,” she replied decidedly.

The roast meat looked very tempting, so did the tart on the sideboard. Bertrand lounged up out of his seat, and in a few minutes lounged back again. Eating generally put him into a better temper. When he had got through one plateful and was ready for another, he condescended to turn to his companions with a more sociable air.

“I met a fellow down there—on the shore,” he said, jerking his head towards where he supposed the sea to be; “only a common chap, but he seems to know the place. He was inclined to be cheeky at first, but of course I soon put him down. I told him to be there this afternoon again; we might find him useful, now he knows his place.”

Ruby’s eyes sparkled.

“I’m very glad you did put him down,” she said. “All the same—” then she hesitated.

“Do you know who he is?” asked Bertrand.

“He’s the best and nicest and cleverest boy in all the world,” said little Mavis.

Bertrand scowled at her and muttered something, of which “a dirty fisher-boy,” was all that was audible. Miss Hortensia’s presence did overawe him a little.

“I am afraid there can be no question of any of you going out this afternoon,” she said, glancing out of the window as she spoke; “it is clouding over—all over. You must make up your minds to amuse yourselves indoors. You can show Bertrand over the house—that will take some time.”

“May we go up into the turret-rooms and everywhere?” said Ruby.

“Yes, if you don’t stay too long. It is not very cold, and you are sure to keep moving about. There—now comes the rain.”

Come indeed it did, a regular battle of wind and water; one of the sudden storms one must often expect on the coast. But after the first outburst the sky grew somewhat lighter, and the wind went down a little, the rain settling into a steady, heavy pour that threatened to last several hours. For reasons of her own, Ruby set herself to coax Bertrand into a good humour, and she so far succeeded that he condescended to go all over the castle with them, even now and then expressing what was meant to be admiration and approval.

“It isn’t ramshackle, any way,” said Ruby. “It’s one of the strongest built places far or near.”

“If I were a man and a soldier, as I mean to be,” said Bertrand boastfully, “I’d like to cannonade it. You’d see how it’d come toppling over.”

“You wouldn’t like to see it, I should think,” said Mavis. “It’s been the home of your grandfathers just as much as of ours. Don’t you know your mother is our father’s sister?”

Bertrand stared at her.

“What does it matter about old rubbishing grandfathers and stuff like that?” he said. “That was what that fisher-fellow began saying about the castle, as if it was any business of his.”

“Yes indeed,” said Ruby, “he’s far too fond of giving his opinion.” She nodded her head mysteriously. “We’ll have a talk about him afterwards, Bertrand.”

“Ruby,” began Mavis in distress; but Ruby pushed her aside.

“Mind your own business,” she said, more rudely than Mavis had ever heard her speak.

“It’s all Bertrand,” said Mavis to herself, feeling ready to cry. “I’m sure they are going to plan some very naughty unkind thing.”

They were on their way up the turret-stair now; the west turret. They had already explored the other side. Suddenly a strange feeling came over Mavis; she had not been in this part of the castle since the adventure in the grotto.

“She said she comes to the west turret still,” thought the child; “just as she did when cousin Hortensia was a little girl. I wonder if she only comes in the night? I wonder if possibly I shall see her ever up here? If I did, I think I would ask her to stop Bertrand making Ruby naughty. I am sure dear Princess Forget-me-notcouldmake anybody do anything she liked.”

And she could not help having a curious feeling of expecting something, when Ruby, who was in front, threw open the turret-room door.

“This is thehauntedroom, Bertrand,” she said, and there was a mocking tone in her voice. “At least so Mavis and cousin Hortensia believe. Cousin Hortensia can tell you a wonderful story of a night she spent here if you care to hear it.”

Bertrand laughed contemptuously.

“I’d like to see a ghost uncommonly,” he said.

“It would take a good lot of them to frightenme.”

“That’s what I say,” said Ruby. “But the room looks dingy enough, doesn’t it? I don’t think I ever saw it look so dingy before.”

“It looks as if it was full of smoke,” said Bertrand, sniffing about; “but yet I don’t smell smoke.”

Therewassomething strange. Mavis saw it too, and much more clearly than did the others. To her the room seemed filled with a soft blue haze; far from appearing “dingy,” as Ruby said, she thought the vague cloudiness beautiful; and as she looked, it became plain to her that the haze all came from one corner, where it almost seemed to take form, to thicken and yet to lighten; for there was a glow and radiance over there by the window that looked towards the setting sun that did not come from any outside gleam or brightness. No indeed. For the rain was pouring down, steadily and hopelessly, with dull pitiless monotony from a leaden sky. Scarcely could you picture to yourself a drearier scene than the unbroken grey above, and unbroken grey beneath, which was all there was to be seen from the castle that afternoon. Yet in Mavis’s eyes there was a light, a reflection of something beautiful and sunshiny, as she stood there gazing across the room, with an unspoken hope in her heart.

The others did not see the look in her face, or they saw it wrong, Ruby especially, strange to say.

“What are you gaping at, Mavis?” she said.

“You do look so silly.”

Bertrand stared at her in his turn.

“She looks as if she was asleep, or dreaming,” he said curiously.

Mavis rubbed her eyes.

“No, no,” she said brightly, “I’m not.”

And then she tried to be very kind and merry and pleasant to the others. She felt as if “somebody” was watching, and would be pleased. And Bertrand was a little bit gentler and softer than he had yet been, almost giving Mavis a feeling that in some faint far-off way the sweet influence was over him too.

But Ruby was very contradictory. She ran about making fun of the old furniture and mocking at Miss Hortensia’s story till she got Bertrand to join with her, and both began boasting and talking very foolishly—worse than foolishly indeed. More than once Mavis caught words and hints which filled her with distress and anxiety. She knew, however, that when Ruby was in this kind of humour it was less than useless to say anything, now above all that she had got Bertrand to back her up.

Suddenly the boy gave an impatient exclamation.

“I hate this cock-loft,” he said. “It’s so stuffy and choky, and that smoke or mist has got into my eyes and makes them smart. Come along, Ruby, do.”

“It’s not stuffy. I think it’s dreadfully cold,” she replied. “But I’m sure I don’t want to stay here. The mist’s quite gone—not that I ever saw any really; it was only with the room being shut up, I suppose. I’m quite ready to go; let’s run down and get a good warm at the school-room fire, and I’ll tell you something—a grand secret, Bertrand.”

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