by L. T. Meade
CHAPTER XIII.--ONE MORE SECRET.
When Phil opened his eyes he was quite sure for several moments that allhis best dreams were realized. He was in a very tiny parlor (he lovedsmall rooms, for they reminded him of the cottage at the back of thegarden); he was lying full length on an old-fashioned and deliciouslysoft sofa, and a lady with a tender and beautiful face was bending overhim; the firelight flickered in a cozy little grate and the sunlightpoured in through a latticed window. The whole room was a picture ofcomfort, and Phil drew a deep sigh of happiness.
"Have you given mother the bag of gold? And are we back in the cottageat the back of the garden?" he murmured.
"Drink this, dear," said the quiet, grave voice, and then a cup ofdelicious hot milk was held to his little blue lips, and after he hadtaken several sips of the milk he was able to sit up and look round him.
"You are the lady of the forest, aren't you? But where's your greendress?"
"I am a lady who lives in the forest, my dear child. I am so glad I camedown to that dreadful bog and rescued you. What is your name, my dearlittle boy?"
"My name? I am Phil Lovel. Do you know, it is so sad, but I am going tohave Avonsyde. I am the heir. I don't want it at all. It was principallyabout Avonsyde I came out this morning to find you. Yes, I had a greatescape in the bog, but I felt almost sure that you would come to saveme. It was very good of you. I am not a strong boy, and I don't supposeI could have stood up in that dreadful cold, damp bog much longer.Although I'm not bad at bearing pain, yet the ache in my legs wasgetting quite terrible. Well, it's all right now, and I'm so glad I'vefound you. Are you very rich, lady of the forest? And may I tell youeverything?"
Had Phil not been absorbed in his own little remarks he might havenoticed a curious change coming over the lady's face. For one briefinstant her eyes seemed to blaze, her brows contracted as if with pain,and the band with which she held the restorative to Phil's lipstrembled. Whatever emotion overcame her its effect was brief. When theboy, wondering at her silence, raised his eyes to look at her, it wasonly a sweet and quiet glance which met his.
"I have heard of little Philip Lovel," she said. "I am glad to see you.I am glad I saved you from a terrible fate. If no one had come to yourrescue you must eventually have sunk in that dreadful bog."
"But I was quite sure you would come," answered Phil. "Do you know, Iwent out this morning expecting to meet you. Betty and I have spoken ofyou so very, very often. We have made up lovely stories about you; butyou have always been in green and your face dazzled. Now you are not ingreen. You are in a dark, plain dress--as plain a dress as mother used towear when we lived in the house behind the garden; and though you arebeautiful--yes, I really think you are beautiful--you don't dazzle. Well,I am glad I have met you. Did you know that a little boy was wanderingall over the forest looking for you to-day? And did you come out onpurpose to meet him and to save him? Oh, I trust, I do trust you havegot the gift with you!"
"I don't quite understand you, my dear little boy," said the lady. "No,I did not come to meet you. I simply took a walk between the showers.You are talking too much and too fast; you must be quiet now, and I willput this warm rug over you and you can try to sleep. When you are quiterested and warm, Nancy, my servant, will take you back to Avonsyde."
Phil was really feeling very tired; his limbs ached; his throat was dryand parched; he was only too glad to lie still on that soft sofa in thattiny room and not pretend to be anything but a sadly exhausted littleboy. He even closed his eyes at the lady's bidding, but he soon openedthem again, for he liked to watch her as she sat by the fire. No, shewas scarcely dazzling, but Phil could quite believe that she might beconsidered beautiful. Her eyes were dark and gray; her hair was alsodark, very soft, and very abundant; her mouth had an expression about itwhich Phil seemed partly to know, which puzzled him, for he felt so surethat he had seen just such resolute and well cut lips in some one else.
"It's Rachel!" he said suddenly under his breath. "How very, very queerthat Rachel should have a look of the lady of the forest!"
He half-roused himself to watch the face, which began more and more toremind him of Rachel's.
But as he looked there came a curious change over the lady's expressiveface. The firm lips trembled; a look of agonized yearning and longingfilled the pathetic gray eyes, and a few words said aloud withunspeakable sadness reached the little boy.
"So Kitty speaks of me--little, little Kitty speaks of me."
The lady covered her face with her hands, and Phil, listening veryattentively, thought he heard her sob.
After this he really closed his eyes and went to sleep. When he awokethe winter's light had disappeared, the curtains were drawn across thelittle window, and a reading-lamp with a rose-colored shade made thecenter of the table look pretty. There was a cozy meal spread for two onthe board, and when Phil opened his eyes and came back to the world ofreality, the lady was bending over the fire and making some crisp toast.
"You have had a nice long sleep," she said in a cheerful voice. "Nowwill you come to the table and have some tea? Here is a fresh egg foryou, which Brownie, my dear speckled hen, laid while you were asleep.You feel much better, don't you? Now you must make a very good tea, andwhen you have finished Nancy will take you as far as Rufus' Stone, whereI have asked a man with a chaise to meet her; he will drive you back toAvonsyde in less than an hour."
Phil felt quite satisfied with these arrangements. He also discoveredthat he was very hungry; so he tumbled off the sofa, and with hislight-brown hair very much tossed and his eyes shining, took his placeat the tea-table. There he began to chatter, and did not at all knowthat the lady was leading him on to tell her as much as possible aboutRachel and Kitty and about his life at Avonsyde. He answered all herquestions eagerly, for he had by no means got over his impression thatshe was really the lady whom he had come to seek.
"I don't want Avonsyde, you know," he said suddenly, speaking with greatearnestness. "Oh, please, if you are the lady of the forest and can givethose who seek you a gift, let my gift be a bag of gold! I will take itback to mother in the chaise to-night, and then--and then--poor mother! Mymother is very poor, lady, but when I give her your gold she will berich, and then we can both go away from Avonsyde."
For a moment or two the lady with the sad gray eyes looked with wonderand perplexity at little Phil--some alarm even was depicted on her face,but it suddenly cleared and lightened. She rose from her chair, andgoing up to the child stooped and kissed him.
"You don't want Avonsyde. Then I am your friend, little Phil Lovel. Hereare three kisses--one for you, one for Rachel, one for Kitty. Give mykisses as from yourself to the little girls. But I am not what you thinkme, Phil. I am no supernatural lady who can give gifts or can dazzlewith unusual beauty. I am just a plain woman who lives here most of theyear and earns her bread with hard and daily labor. I cannot give money,for I have not got it. I can be your friend, however. Not a powerfulfriend--certainly not; but no true friendship is to be lightly thrownaway. Why, my little man, how disappointed you look! Are you reallygoing to cry?"
"Oh, no, I won't cry!" said Phil, but with a very suspicious break inhis voice; "but I am so tired of all the secrets and of pretending to bestrong and all that. If you are not the lady and have not got the bag ofgold, mother and I will have to stay on at Avonsyde, for mother is verypoor and she would starve if we went away. You don't know what adreadful weight it is on one's mind always to be keeping secrets."
"I am very sorry, Phil. As it happens I do know what a secret means. Iam very sorry for you, more particularly as I am just going to add toyour secrets. I want you to promise not to tell any one at Avonsydeabout my little house in the forest nor about me. I think you will keepmy secret when I tell you that if it is known it will do me very graveinjury."
"I would not injure you," said Phil, raising his sweet eyes to her face."I do hate secrets and I find them dreadfully hard to keep, but one morewon't greatly matter, only I do wish you were the real lady of
theforest."
When Nancy came back to the little cottage after disposing of Philcomfortably in the chaise and giving the driver a great many emphaticdirections about him, she went straight into her lady's presence. Shewas a privileged old servant, and she did not dream of knocking at thedoor of the little sitting-room; no, she opened it boldly and came in,many words crowding to her lips.
"This will upset her fine," she muttered under her breath. "Oh, dear!oh, dear! I'll have to do a lot of talking to-night. I'm not one to sayshe gives way often, but when she do, why, she do, and that's the longand short of it."
Nancy opened the door noisily and entered the room with a world ofpurpose depicted on her honest, homely face.
"Now, ma'am," she began, "I have seen him off as snug and safe aspossible, and the driver promises to deliver him sure as sure into hismother's arms within the hour. A pretty sort of a mother she must be tolet a bit of a babe like that wander about since before the dawn andnever find him yet. Now, ma'am, you're not settling down to thatneedlework at this hour? Oh, and you do look pale! Why, Mrs. Lovel,what's the use of overdoing it?"
The lady so addressed raised her sad eyes to the kindly pair lookingdown at her and said gently:
"I am determined to be at least as brave as that brave little boy. Hewould not cry, although he longed to. I must either work or cry, so Ichoose to work. Nancy, how many yards of the lace are now finished?"
"Ten, I should think," answered Nancy, whose countenance expressedstrong relief at the turn the conversation had taken. "I should saythere was ten yards done, ma'am, but I will go upstairs and count themover if you like."
"I wish you would. If there are ten yards upstairs there are nearly twohere; that makes just the dozen. And you think it is quite the best laceI have made yet, Nancy?"
"Oh, ma'am, beautiful is no word; and how your poor eyes stand the finework passes my belief. But now, now, where's the hurry for to-night?Why, your hands do shake terrible. Let me make you a cup of cocoa andlight a fire in your bedroom, and you go to bed nice and early, Mrs.Lovel."
Mrs. Lovel threw down her work with a certain gesture of impatience.
"I should lie awake all night," said Mrs. Lovel. "Do you know, Nancy,that the little boy spoke of Kitty? He said my baby Kitty oftenmentioned the lady of the forest--that he and she both did. At first Ithought that he meant me and that Kitty really spoke of her mother; butnow I believe he was alluding to some imaginary forest lady."
"The green forest lady," interposed Nancy. "I don't say, ma'am, thatshe's altogether a fancy, though. There's them--yes, there's them whosewords may be relied on who are said to have spoke with her."
"Well, no matter. I am finishing this lace to-night, Nancy, because Imean to go to London to-morrow."
"You, ma'am? Oh, oh, and it ain't three months since you were there!"
"Yes, I must go. I want to see my husband's lawyers. Nancy, thissuspense is killing me!"
"Oh, my poor, dear, patient lady! But it ain't so many months now towait. Miss Rachel's birthday comes in May."
"Nancy, the mother-hunger is driving me wild. If I could only see themboth and kiss them once I should be satisfied."
"You shall kiss them hundreds of times when May comes," answered the oldservant. "And they are well and bonny and Miss Rachel loves you; and thelittle one, why, of course her heart will go out to you when you holdher in your arms again."
"Six years!" repeated the poor lady, clasping her hands, letting thelovely lace fall to the ground, and gazing into the glowing fire in thegrate. "Six years for a mother to starve! Oh, Nancy, how could goodwomen be so cruel? I believe Miss Grizel and Miss Katharine are good.How could they be so cruel?"
"Old maids!" said Nancy, with a little snort. "Do you suppose, ma'am,that those old ladies know anything of the mother feel? Well, Mrs.Lovel, the children are two bonny little lassies, and you have given upmuch for them. You did it for their good, ma'am--that they should havefull and plenty and be provided for. You did it all out of realself-denial, ma'am."
"I made up my mind the day Kitty fainted for want of food," answeredMrs. Lovel. "I made up my mind and I never flinched; but oh! Nancy,think of its being in vain! For, after all, that little boy is the trueheir. He is a dear little fellow, and although I ought to hate him Ican't. He is the true heir; and if so, you know, Nancy, that my littlegirls come back to me. How have I really bettered them by giving themsix years of luxury when, after all, they must return to my small life?"
"And to the best of mothers," answered Nancy. "And to two or threehundred pounds put by careful; and they hearty and bonny and MissRachel's education half-complete. No, ma'am, they are not worse off, buta deal better off for what you have done for them--that's if the worstcomes. But how can you say that that little boy will have Avonsyde? Why,he hasn't no strength in him--not a bit. Thin is no word for him, andhe's as light as a feather, and so white! Why, I carried him in my armsas far as the Stone, and I didn't feel as if I had nothing in them. Why,ma'am, all the country round knows that the ladies at Avonsyde arelooking out for a strong heir; they go direct against the will if theygive the old place to a sickly one. No, ma'am, Master Phil Lovel ain'tthe heir for Avonsyde. And is it likely, ma'am, that the ladies would beputting advertisements in all the papers, foreign and otherwise, for thelast five years and a half, and sending over special messengers to theother side of the globe, and never yet a strong, hearty, real heir turnup? Why, of course, Mrs. Lovel, he ain't to be found, and that's why hedon't come."
Mrs. Lovel smiled faintly.
"Well, Nancy," she said, "I must at least go to town to-morrow, and asthat is the case I will take your advice and go up to my room now. No, Icould not eat anything. Good-night, dear Nancy."
When Mrs. Lovel left the little sitting-room Nancy stayed behind to giveit a good "redding-up" as she expressed it. With regard tositting-rooms, and indeed all rooms arranged for human habitation, Nancywas a strict disciplinarian; rigid order was her motto. Chairs placeddemurely in rows; a table placed exactly in the middle of the room;books arranged at symmetrical intervals round it; each ornamentcorresponding exactly to its fellow; blinds drawn to a certainlevel--these were her ideas of a nice cheerful apartment. Could she havehad her own choice with regard to carpets, she would have had them witha good dash of orange in them; her curtains should always be made ofmoreen and be of a bright cardinal tone. A tidy and a cheerful room washer delight; she shuddered at the tendencies, so-called artistic, of thepresent day. Putting the little sitting-room in order now, her feetknocked against something which gave forth a metallic sound; stooping,she picked up from the floor Phil's tankard. She examined it curiouslyand brought it to the light. The quaint motto inscribed on one of itssides--"Tyde what may"--was well known to her as the motto of the house ofLovel.
"I know nothing about this old cup," she said to herself; "it may or maynot be of value; but it looks old--uncommon old; and it has the familycoat of arms and them outlandish, meaningless words on it. Of course itwas little Master Phil brought it in to-day and forgot all about it.Well, well, it may mean something or it may not; but my name ain't NancyWhite if I don't set it by for the present and bide my time aboutreturning it. Ah, my dear, dear lady, it won't be Nancy's fault if yourbonny little girls don't get their own out of Avonsyde!"