"In point of fact Mr. Ansdell does _not_ pay me," he said. "What I learn from being with him is far more valuable than money to me. But all the same, if your grandfather _did_ pay me for my services, _that_ would not make me less of a gentleman!" and Mr. Truro stood erect, and gave a little toss to his head, which showed he could be in earnest when he liked. But then he laughed again, and we saw he was not really vexed.

"May I make a remark in turn?" he said. "Are you young people in the habit of talking of Mr. Ansdell as 'he' and 'him?' 'She,' I know, is 'the cat.' I have yet to learn who 'he' is."

We laughed, but we blushed too, a little.

"We don't always," said Tib; "but you see you _are_ a cousin; mayn't we tell him things?" she exclaimed, impulsively, turning to Gerald and me.

"He's got such a kind face, and--and we haven't anybody like other children."

Mr. Truro turned his face away for half a second. I fancy he didn't want us to see how sorry he looked. By this time we had sauntered round to the other side of the lawn, out of sight of the house almost. There was a garden seat near where we stood. Mr. Truro took Tib and me by the hand, and Gerald trotted after.

"Let's sit down," he said. "Now, that's comfortable. Yes, dears, I _am_ a cousin, and I think you'll find me a faithful one. Do tell me 'things.' I won't let you say anything not right of your grandfather; there is no man living I respect more. But perhaps I may help you to understand him better."

"Is he never cross to you?" asked Tib; "at least, not so much cross as that horrid laughy-at-you-way--laughy without being funny or nice, you know."

"Yes, I do know," he answered. "I think Mr. Ansdell is inclined to be that way to everybody a little. I wish you could hear how he makes some of them smart now and then in the House."

"The people who don't pay their bills--the people who make the National Debt, do you mean?" I asked.

"The how much?" asked our new cousin in his turn, opening his eyes very wide.

And when I explained what I meant, about all the talk we had heard about _bills_, and how Tib had read something about the National Debt, and thought it must mean that, you should have seen how he laughed; not a bit like grandpapa, but just _roaring_. I know better now, of course. I know that there are different kinds of bills, and that the ones we had heard of being talked about in Parliament are new plans or proposals that the gentlemen there--"members," like grandpapa--want to have made into laws, because they think they would be good laws. I know, too, pretty well--at least a little--about the National Debt, and that somehow it isn't a bad thing, though little debts are very bad things.

I don't see how, but I suppose I shall understand when _I'm_ big, that things that are bad when they're little aren't always bad when they're very big.

When Mr. Truro had finished laughing, he began to listen to all we had to tell him. You would hardly believe how much we told him. Indeed, when we thought it over afterwards we could hardly believe it ourselves; to think that here was a strange gentleman we hadn't known an hour, whose name we had never heard in our lives, and that we were talking to him as we had never before talked to anybody. He had such a way of looking as if he really _cared_ to hear. I think it was that that made it so easy to talk to him; and then, of course, his being a cousin made a difference. He wasn't a very near one, but I have noticed that sometimes rather far-off cousins care for you quite as much or more than much nearer ones. And anything in the shape of a cousin was a great deal to us; we had never heard of having any at all.

After we had chattered away for some time, some little remark, I forget what exactly, something about what we did with ourselves all day after lessons were over, seeing that we had no friends or companions, for we had told him about grandpapa's not allowing us to know any neighbours; something of that kind brought us dreadfully near the subject of our discovery. We had already said _something_, though very little, about the old book with the scored-out name, and Mr. Truro listened eagerly, though it struck me afterwards more than at the time that he had not seemed very surprised.

And when we did not at once answer about how we amused ourselves, he repeated the question. We looked at each other. Then Tib got rather red, and said, quietly,

"We can't tell you all we do, at least, I don't think we can," she said, glancing at Gerald and me.

Mr. Truro looked a little startled.

"Why not?" he said. "I am sure, at least I think I may be, that you wouldn't do anything you shouldn't. If, for example, you had been tempted to make friends with any of the village children, it would be much better to tell your grandfather; he might not mind if they were good children, even if they were not of the same cla.s.s as you. But it would be wrong not to tell him."

We began to feel a little frightened, and for the first time a misgiving came over us that perhaps grandpapa might be angry at our having played in the palace. I suppose our faces grew so solemn that Mr. Truro felt more uneasy.

"Come now," he said, "can't you tell me all about it? I don't look very ogre-y, do I? That is, if you've no real objection to telling me before you tell Mr. Ansdell."

"We meant to tell him; we were going to tell him to-day," I said.

"Indeed, we, at least I, _wanted_ to tell him. I thought perhaps he'd explain, or that we'd find out about it. But he isn't as kind this time as he was the last, and perhaps he'd be angry, really angry. I never thought before that it was a thing he could be angry about, did you, Tib?"

"No," said Tib, faintly; "and it would be so dreadful not to go there any more."

Gerald began to cry.

Mr. Truro's face grew graver and graver.

"My dear children," he began, "my dear little cousins, I must speak very earnestly to you. You must tell this secret, whatever it is, to your grandfather. It might not make him angry just now, but if you did _not_ tell him, I very much fear it might."

"But he is so very sharp to-day," said Tib; "you could see he was. And when he is like that we can't tell things properly, and it somehow seems as if we were naughty when we aren't really. We can't tell him _to-day_, can we?"

Mr. Truro reflected.

"It is true," he said, "that Mr. Ansdell is _particularly_ busy and worried. He has been terribly overworked lately; indeed, he came down here expressly to be able to work without interruption. Can't you confide in me, children? I promise to advise you to the very best of my ability."

"And you wouldn't tell him--grandpapa, I mean," said Tib, correcting herself, "without _telling_ us you were going to?"

"Certainly not. I should have no right to tell him without your leave,"

he replied.

We all looked at each other again.

"I suppose we'd better, then," I said. "You begin, Tib. It's rather difficult to think where it began," I went on. "It had to do with grandpapa telling us so about not knowing the neighbours, or making friends with any one, and we had never heard of Rosebuds before, you know, and then I remembered seeing it in the book, and Tib likes mysteries so, and----"

"Take breath, Gussie, there's no such dreadful hurry," said Mr. Truro, and his face grew more smiling as I went on.

"We fixed to make a story about it. It didn't seem like prying to play at it that way," said Tib.

And then we went on to tell all about the imprisoned princess, and the old arbour, and the supposed tool-house, which was to be a dungeon, and Gerald finding the key, and just everything--all that I have written; I needn't tell it all again. And with every word Mr. Truro's kind face grew kinder and brighter; all the grave, uneasy look went quite out of it, and this, of course, made it much easier to tell it all quite comfortably. By the time we had quite finished--it took a good while, for Gerald _would_ interrupt to tell that _he_ had found the key, and _he_ had made it turn when Tib and Gussie couldn't--Mr. Truro's face had grown more than bright, it looked quite beaming.

"And the portrait of the princess is like Tib, you say--Mercedes, I _should_ say? I would like best of all to call you 'Regina';" and he pa.s.sed his hand softly over Tib's dark hair.

"Awfully like Tib, only prettier," I said, bluntly. But Tib didn't mind.

Something in Mr. Truro's tone had caught her attention.

"Did you ever know any one called Regina?" she asked. "You seem to like it so."

Mr. Truro did not answer for a moment. Then he said, quietly, "It is a family name with me, too. I have heard it all my life. You know I am your cousin."

"Oh, of course," we all said.

Then he went on to talk of what we had been telling him.

"Will you let me think over about it?" he said. "I am the last person to advise you not to tell your grandfather _everything_, but I do not think it would be wise to tell him anything just now, as he is extremely busy and worried. I will tell you what I think you should do before I go."

Of course we agreed readily to what he said.

CHAPTER VIII.

STEPPED OUT OF THE FRAME.

"And, even as one on household stairs, Who meets an angel unawares, Might hold his breath; in silent awe We stood."

_The Unknown Portrait_--SIR NOEL PATON.

We saw very little of grandpapa during this visit, and not as much of Mr. Truro as we would have liked. For it was some very bothering time about government things, and everybody that had to do with them was very busy. We came in to dessert, as we always did, and grandpapa was kind in his own way. He seemed pleased that we were such good friends with Mr. Truro. I remember he said something to him about his having done already what _he_--grandpapa--had not been able to do himself--"gained our hearts," or something like that. And Mr. Truro answered. "You could if you would, sir, or probably you _have_ if you would but think so." But grandpapa only shook his head, though he smiled a little in a nice way.