CHAPTER XIX.--A TENDER HEART.
Phil's heart was very low within him. During the last few days, eversince that terrible interview with his mother, he had built his hopeshigh. He had been almost sure that the tankard was waiting for him inthe lady's house in the forest, that he should find it there when hewent to make inquiries, and then that he might bring it back to hismother and so remove the shadow from her brow.
"I never knew that mother could miss a thing Gabrielle had given her sovery, very much," thought the little boy. "But there's no doubt at allshe does miss it and that she's fretting. Poor, dear mother! she's notunkind to me. Oh, no, she's never that except when she's greatly vexed;but, all the same, I know she's fretting; for those lines round hermouth have come out again, and even when she laughs and tries to bemerry downstairs I see them. There's no doubt at all that she's frettingand is anxious. Poor mother! how I wish I could find the green lady ofthe forest and that she would give me the bag of gold which wouldsatisfy mother's heart."
Phil walked very slowly, his eyes fixed on the ground. He was nowstartled to hear a voice addressing him, and looking up with a quickmovement, he saw the lady who lived in the pretty little cottage comingto meet him. He was not particularly elated at sight of her; he hadnothing in particular to say to her; for as Nancy had assured him thatthe tankard was not at the cottage, it was quite useless making furtherinquiries about it.
"What are you doing here, Philip?" asked the lady in a kind voice. Sheknew him at once, and coming up to him, took his hand and looked kindlyinto his face. "You are a long way from home. Have you lost yourself inthis dear, beautiful forest a second time, little man?"
Then Phil remembered that if this lady of the forest meant nothing inparticular to him she meant a great deal to Rachel. He could not forgethow Rachel's eyes had shone, how Rachel's face had looked when she spokeabout her. The color flew into his own pale little face, and he spokewith enthusiasm.
"I am glad I have met you," he said, "even though I don't know yourname. Will you come for a walk with me now through the forest? Will youhold my hand and look at me while you speak? Will you walk with me, andwill you turn your face to the right, always to the right, as you go?"
"You are a queer little boy," said the lady, and she laughed, almostmerrily. "But I have just taken a very long walk and am tired. You alsolook tired, Philip, and your face is much too white. Suppose we alterthe programme and yet keep together for a little. Suppose you come intothe cottage with me and have some tea, and Nancy makes some of herdelicious griddle-cakes."
"That would be lovely. I should like it beyond anything; but may Rachelcome in too?"
"Rachel!" said the lady of the forest. She put her hand suddenly to herheart and stepped back a pace or two.
"Yes, my cousin, Rachel Lovel; she is standing up yonder, at the otherside of the great oak tree. She wants to see you, and she is standingthere, hoping, hoping. Rachel's heart is very hungry to see you. Whenshe speaks of you her eyes look starved. I don't understand it, but Iknow Rachel loves you better than any one else in the world."
"Impossible!" said the lady; "and yet--and yet--but I must not speak toher, child, nor she to me. It--oh! you agitate me. I am tired. I have hada long walk. I must not speak to little Rachel Lovel."
"She knows that," said Phil in a sorrowful voice; for the lady'swhiteness and agitation and distress filled him with the keenestsympathy. "Rachel knows that you and she may not speak, but let her lookat you. Do! She will be so good; she will not break her word to you forthe world."
"I must not look on her face, child. There are limits--yes, there arelimits, and beyond them I have not strength to venture. I have a secret,child; I have a holy of holies, and you are daring to open it wide. Oh!you have brought me agony, and I am very tired!"
"I know what secrets are," said little Phil. "Oh! they are dreadful;they give great pain. I am sorry you are in such trouble, lady of theforest, and that I have caused it. I am sorry, too, that you cannot takea very little walk with me, for it would give Rachel such pleasure."
"It would give Rachel pleasure?" repeated the lady. And now the colorcame back to her cheeks and the light to her eyes. "That makes all thedifference. I will walk with you, Phil, and you shall take my hand and Iwill turn my face to the right. See: can Rachel see my face now?"
"Yes," said Phil; "she will peep from behind the oak tree. How glad, howdelighted she will be!"
The lady and Phil walked slowly together, hand in hand, for nearly halfan hour; during all that time the lady did not utter a single word. Whenthe walk came to an end she stooped to kiss Phil, and then, moved by animpulse which she could not restrain, she kissed her own hand ferventlyand waved it in the direction of the oak tree. A little childish handfluttered in the breeze in return, and then the lady returned to thecottage and shut the door after her.
* * * * *
Phil ran panting up to the oak tree and took Rachel's hand.
"I did what I could for you, Rachel," he said. "You saw her--did you not?She kept her face turned to the right, and you must have seen her quiteplainly."
Rachel's cheeks were blazing like two peonies; the pupils of her eyeswere dilated; her lips quivered.
"I saw her!" she exclaimed. "I looked at her, and my heart is hungrierthan ever!"
Here she threw herself full length on the ground and burst intopassionate sobs.
"Don't, Rachel!" said Phil. "You puzzle me. Oh, you make my heart ache!Oh, this pain!"
He turned away from Rachel, and leaning against the oak tree writhed inbodily agony. In a moment Rachel had sprung to her feet; her tears hadstopped; and raising Phil's hat she wiped some drops from his whitebrow.
"I ran a little too fast," he panted, after a moment or two. "I am astrong boy, but I can't run very fast; it gives me a stitch; it catchesmy breath. Oh, yes, thank you, Rachel; I am better now. I am a strongboy, but I can't run very fast."
"You are not a bit a strong boy!" said Rachel, wiping away her own tearsvigorously. "I have discovered that secret too of yours, Phil. You arealways pretending to be strong, but it is only pretense."
Phil looked at his cousin in alarm.
"If you guess my secrets you won't tell them?" he said.
"Of course I won't tell. What do you take me for? Now you must not walkfor a little, and the children are quite happy without us. Is not this anice soft bank? I will sit by your side and you shall tell me what thelady said to you and you to her."
"No," said Phil, with sudden energy. "I cannot tell you what she said."
"You cannot tell me?"
"No. I took the lady by surprise and she let out some of her secrets--notall, but some. It would not be fair to tell them to any one else. Iasked her to walk with me, and she knew that you were watching. Now,Rachel, I am quite well again, as well as ever. Shall we go back to theother children?"
Rachel rose slowly to her feet.
"I hate secrets," she said, "and the very air seems full of themsometimes. You have lots of secrets, and my aunts have secrets, and thelady of the forest has a secret, and there is a secret about my mother,for I know she is not dead and yet I never see her. These secrets areenough to starve my heart. Phil, how soon would a girl like me besupposed to be grown up?"
"Oh, Rachel, how can I tell?"
"I shall be thirteen in May and I am tall. When I am fifteen--that is, intwo years' time--I shall begin to go round the world looking for mymother. I don't intend to wait any longer. When I am fifteen I shallbegin to go."
"In Australia girls are nearly grown up at that age," said Phil, who wasthinking of Gabrielle. "Now, Rachel, let us go back to the others."
The others were getting impatient. They had played hide-and-seek, andhunted for squirrels, and climbed trees, and quarreled and made it upagain, until all their resources had come to an end; and when Rachel andPhil made their appearance they found that Robert had packed up theremains of the picnic, and that Clementina and Abby had already mountedt
heir ponies, preparatory to riding home. Robert was leading up theother ponies as the two missing children appeared.
Rachel's mind was still a good deal preoccupied, and it was not untilshe was preparing to mount her own pony that she discovered thatClementina had secured Ruby and was now seated comfortably on his back.
"Oh, Clementina, it is not safe for you to ride Ruby," she called out atonce. "He's only just broken in and he's full of spirit."
"Thank you," replied Clementina. "I prefer riding horses with spirit. Iwould not have another ride on that slow little creature, Surefoot, forthe world."
"But indeed that is not the reason," said Rachel, who felt herself, shescarcely knew why, both softened and subdued. "It is that Ruby is notsafe. I am the first girl who has ever been on his back. He knows me andwill do what I tell him, but I am sure it is dangerous for you to ridehim. Is it not dangerous, Robert, for Miss Marmaduke to ride Ruby?"called out Rachel to the groom.
Robert came up and surveyed the spirited little horse and the youngrider critically.
"If Miss Marmaduke don't whip him, and if she humors him a good bit anddon't set him off in a canter, why, then no harm may be done," he said."Ruby's fresh, miss, and have a good deal of wild blood in him, and Ionly broke him in for Miss Rachel a fortnight back."
Clementina's color had risen very high during this discussion.
"I presume," she said in an insolent tone, "that a pupil of CaptainDelacourt's can ride any horse that a pupil of one of the grooms atAvonsyde can manage! I'm sorry you're so disobliging as to grudge meyour horse, Rachel. I'll just ride on in front now, and you all canfollow me when you are ready."
She turned Ruby's head as she spoke and rode away under the foresttrees.
"If she gives Ruby a taste of the whip she'll repent of all her proudairs," muttered Robert. "Now, young ladies, you had better mount and getunder way. I suppose, Miss Rachel, that that 'ere young lady knows theright road home?"
"Hadn't I better get on Brownie and ride after her?" asked Phil.
"No, sir; no. Ruby couldn't bear horses' hoofs a-galloping after him. Itwould set him off mad like, and there wouldn't be a hope for MissMarmaduke. No; the only thing now is to trust that the young lady won'ttouch Ruby with the whip and that she knows the way home."
The other children mounted without any more discussion, and the ridehome was undertaken with a certain sense of depression.
No sign of Clementina could be seen, and when they reached the stablesat Avonsyde neither she nor Ruby had put in an appearance.