"I tell you it was him."

"Has he brought back my dove, do you think?"

"No, no; who cares about a dove just now?"

"Nell, I really do care, and my cage is most beautiful and clean. I put in fresh seed and water only this morning; wasn't it lucky?"

"Well, the dove hasn't come," said Nell; "you know it was 'perhaps'

about the dove, and about the pony, and about all the jolly things--you're always forgetting that it was 'perhaps.' There, go and eat your lobster, and come back to me when you have done; don't drink too much champagne, or maybe you'll turn giddy. I'll wait here by this window."

Boris, looking decidedly depressed, hesitated for a moment; then seeing that Nell was resolute, he decided that, even if disappointment were in store, he could all the rest of his life reflect that he had sat up late and eaten lobster salad for supper. He accordingly sidled away in the direction of the supper-room, and Nell, with a light movement, sprang on one of the benches and then into the deep recess of a window. Here, with her cloudy hair all about her, her little face as white as her dress, her eyes big and spiritual in the trouble which vaguely stirred her sensitive soul, she looked out into the night. Her large wings shielded her little form, and n.o.body noticed that one fairy was not joining in the revels.

"I did see him," murmured Nell; "I saw his face just for a minute; he pressed it up against the pane and looked in; his hair was all ruffled, and his eyes, his eyes--oh, the thought of his eyes makes me ache so badly. Why doesn't he come in? What is he doing out in the garden? I know he has come back. I know he's not in London; he has come back and he is in the garden, and we are all so jolly, and he so sad. What is the matter? Oh, I know quite well; it's _perhaps_; and the pony, and the dove, and the rabbits have not come home. Wings--I thought I'd be so happy when I had wings, but I'm just mis'ribble I'm just mis'ribble."

There was a little noise behind Nell; she turned her head to see Boris scrambling up into the seat by her side.

"I had two plates of salad," he began; "'twasn't so very nice, not so nice as--why, what's the matter, Nell?"

"Come," said Nell, taking his hand, "quick, jump down, he's under the oak tree, just where the shadow is thickest; I saw him move; that's him; let's go to him, Boris; take my hand; let's run to him."

Boris's hot hand clutched Nell's. They ran quickly along by the comparatively empty s.p.a.ce near the wall, reached the entrance, and flew swiftly across the moonlit gra.s.s.

CHAPTER XVII.

FAIRY AND BROWNIE.

Perhaps it was not the first time that the moon had looked down on a fairy and a brownie running across that old, old lawn. No one could say anything for certain on this point. We all of us have a sort of undying belief in fairies, so perhaps they did exist once, before our hearts had grown too cold and our natures too worldly to understand them. Children know most about them, but even children don't quite believe in them now, in the good old-fashioned way of long ago.

A very pretty fairy and brownie were out now. The moon silvered Nell's wings and put a sort of unearthly radiance into her hair, and Boris, with his bright locks standing almost upright on his head, in his quaint little costume, with his upturned toes and ruffled hands, looked quite like a true denizen of fairy land. Certain it is that the man who stood under the shadow of the oak gave a perceptible start when he saw the fairy and brownie. For a moment the old belief of his early childhood flashed through his brain, then he recognised Nell and Boris, and coming to meet them, he took a hand of each.

"What is it, father?" exclaimed Boris; "what are you standing out of doors for? I know it's a very warm night, but we want you dreadfully, dreadfully, in the house."

Boris rubbed himself against his father's knee as he spoke. Nell clutched Squire Lorrimer's other hand, and raising it to her lips, kissed it pa.s.sionately. Nell did not speak at all.

"Come in, father, come in," repeated Boris; "and where's mother, and what are you doing out here under the oak tree?"

"Looking at you little people; you make a gay sight," said the Squire.

In spite of himself, his voice was quite hollow.

"But why don't you come in?"

"I'm not coming in; I'm going back to London again to-night."

"Why, father?" asked Nell, opening her lips for the first time, and looking at him with great intentness.

The Squire stooped and lifted Nell into his arms.

"I did not want you to see me," he said. "I knew you were having your big party to-night, and I had to come to the Towers on--on business.

What are you trembling for, Nell? You ought not to be out; you must run back to the house at once; why, you are cold, child."

"I'm _not_ cold, and I _will_ stay and kiss you."

Nell's arms were pressed tightly round the Squire's neck. Her little soft lips pressed kiss after kiss on his somewhat grisly cheek.

Boris, standing on the ground, and looking up at Nell in her fathers arms, thoroughly realised for the first time that he had gone to useless trouble in cleaning the dove's cage.

"Now, Nell, you must be sensible," said her father. "I was obliged to come to the Towers to-night to--to fetch something. I knew from Molly's letters that you were going to have a big ball. I thought I'd like to see how the ball-room looked. We have not had a ball, a very big ball, in that room since the days of my great-grandmother. My grandmother has told me about that ball, and about the very window where my great-grandfather stood when he asked my great-grandmother to be his wife. He asked her to marry him at that ball, so of course she never could forget it; and the story of the green dress she wore--apple green--with her golden locks falling over her shoulders, and the story of the window where he proposed to her, have been handed down in the family ever since. To-night, in that same window, the little great-great-grandchild sat, and looked out, and I saw her; now, you must run back, Nell. Boris, you run back, too; run and enjoy yourselves; be happy--G.o.d, G.o.d bless you."

"Why don't you come in, father?" asked Boris.

Nell felt as if she could not say a word. There was so much meaning in fathers words; there was so much that he said with his eyes, and with the tight pressure of his arms, which the rather commonplace words he uttered seemed to have nothing to do with. Nell understood, and her heart ached so, she seemed to be turned dumb.

The Squire put Nell firmly on the gra.s.s.

"Run in, both of you," he said. "I must go back to the railway station at once, or I shall miss my train. I am returning to town to-night. Say nothing of this to anyone until the ball is over, then you may tell Molly, if you like, that she will probably see her mother to-morrow.

Good night, chicks."

"Won't we see you to-morrow, father?"

But the Squire's only reply was to stride softly away under the trees.

"Why, he's gone," exclaimed Boris with a little cry.

"Yes. Didn't you know he was going, Boris? What is the use of making a fuss?" said Nell. She found she could speak quite well again now. "Take my hand and come back to the house; let's do what he said."

"Do you think he's put out about anything?" asked Boris. "He seemed dumpy, like; I couldn't say anything about the dove; I knew it hadn't come. Do you think father was sad about anything, Nell?"

"He didn't say he was, did he?" asked Nell.

"No."

"Well, let's come back and dance, or people will miss us. Father said we weren't to say anything until the ball was over, and then only to Molly."

"But if Molly goes back to the Grange?"

"She mustn't; she must stay here. I'll dance with you now, Boris, if you like."

The time had sped faster than the children had any idea of while they were out. But the dancing still continued and went on until a late hour.

Then the moment when expectation must yield to a delightful reality arrived. Towards the end of one of the prettiest figures of the cotillion, the fairies and brownies a.s.sumed new characters. Either a fairy or a brownie conducted one of the many personages who figured in the fancy ball up to the fairy queen, who, a.s.sisted by a number of satellites, bestowed upon each a gift carefully selected in advance to meet the requirements of the special child in question. Each child was expected to drop on one knee to receive the fairy queen's benediction with her gift; they then filed one by one into the supper-room, where refreshments of a particularly ethereal, grateful character awaited them. This scene really ended the never-to-be-forgotten fancy ball.

Hasty departures followed. Carriages rolled away with many sleepy and happy little folk, and at last the two carriages which were to convey Sir John Thornton and his party back to the Grange, appeared.

Nora was to return with them, and Annie Forest had arranged to specially attend to her comforts. Molly, who intended to come back to the Towers in a day or two, was also wrapping a white shawl round her shoulders preparatory to departure, when a brownie rushed quickly from one of the ante-rooms, flung his arms round her neck, and whispered in her ear.

"Oh, Molly, what are you waiting for?" exclaimed Nan. "We're all perfectly dead with sleep, Boris, you naughty boy; you know you have nothing whatever to say; what are you keeping Molly for now?"