"Some nonsense. I do not approve of practical jokes," began Cecil; but the song only replied,
"Away, away, In the cave no longer stay; Others come to share our play;"
and one of the genies drew her aside, while another blindfolded victim was being introduced with the same rites, only fare more willingly. The only way open to here was that which led to the window of the dining-room, where she found Anne with the children who had had their share, and were admiring their prizes. Anne tried to soothe her by saying, "You see every one is served alike. They thought it would be newer than a tree."
"Did you mean to give me this?" asked a little girl, in whose hands Cecil had thrust her dust-pan, without a glance at it.
"Oh the ring!" said Anne. "You must keep that, Mrs. Poynsett thought you would like it. It is a gem-some Greek goddess, I think."
"Is this her arrangement?" asked Cecil, pointing to the dust-pan.
"Oh no! she knew nothing about that, nor I; but you see every one has something droll. See what Mr. Bowater has!"
And Herbert Bowater showed that decidedly uncomplimentary penwiper, where the ass's head declares "There are two of us;" while every child had some absurdity to show; and Miss Moy's shrieks of delight were already audible at a tortoise-shell pen-holder disguised as a hunting-whip.
"I must go to my friends," said Cecil, vouchsafing no admiration of the ring, though she had seen enough to perceive that it was a beautifully engraved ruby; and she hurried back to the library, but only to find all her birds flown, and the room empty! Pursuing them to the drawing-room, she saw only the backs of a few, in the rearmost rank of the eager candidates for admission to the magic cave.
Lady Tyrrell alone saw her, and turned back from the eager multitude, to say in her low, modulated voice, "Beaten, my dear. Able strategy on la belle mere's part."
"Where's Mrs. Tallboys?"
"Don't you see her blue feather, eagerly expectant? Just after you were gone, Edith Bowater came in, and begged us to come and see the conservatory lighted up; and then came a rush of the Brenden children after their aunt, exclaiming wildly it was delicious- lights, and a fairy, and a secret, and every one got something, if they were ever so old. Of course, after that there was nothing but to follow the stream."
"It is a regular plot for outwitting us! Rosamond is dressed up for the fairy. They are all in league."
"Well, we must put a good face on it for the present," said Lady Tyrrell. "Don't on any account look as if you were not in perfect accordance. You can show your sentiments afterwards, you know."
Cecil saw she must acquiesce, for Mrs. Tallboys was full in the midst. With an infinitely better grace than her hostess, she yielded herself to the sports, bowed charmingly to the Peri, whirled like a fairy at the whistling, and was rewarded with a little enamel padlock as a brooch, and two keys as ear-rings; indeed she professed, with evident sincerity, that she was delighted with these sports of the old country, and thought the two genies exquisite specimens of the fair, useless, gentle English male aristocracy.
Mrs. Duncombe, too, accepted the inevitable with considerable spirit and good-humour, though she had a little passage-at-arms with Julius; when showing him the ivory card-case that had fallen to her lot, she said, "So this is the bribe! Society stops the mouth of truth."
"That is as you choose to take it," he said.
"Exactly. When we want to go deep into eternal verities you silence us with frivolous din and dainty playthings for fear of losing your slaves."
"I don't grant that."
"Then why hinder an earnest discussion by all this hubbub?"
"Because this was not the right place or time."
"It never is the right time for the tyrants to let their slaves confer, or to hear home-truths."
"On the contrary, my curiosity is excited. I want to hear Mrs. Tallboys' views."
"Then when will you dine with us? Next Wednesday?"
"Thank you. Wednesday has an evening service."
"Ah! I told you it was never the right time! Then Thursday? And you'll trust your wife with us?"
"Oh yes, certainly."
"It is a bargain, then? Seven o'clock, or there will be no time."
Julius's attention suddenly wandered. Was not a whisper pervading the room of a railway accident? Was not Frank due by that night's train?
There were still so many eager to visit the magic cave, that Julius trusted his wife would remain there sheltered from the report; Jenny Bowater was behind a stand of trees, acting orchestra; but when Terry came to the outskirts of the forest in search of other knights of the whistle, Julius laid a hand on him, and gave instructions in case any rumour should reach Rosamond to let her know how vague it was, tell her that he was going to ascertain the truth, and beg her to keep up the game and cause no alarm.
Next encountering Anne, he begged her to go to his mother and guard her from any alarm, until there was some certainty.
"Can't we send all these people away?" she asked.
"Not yet. We had better make no unnecessary disturbance. There will be time enough if anything be amiss. I am going down to Hazlitt's Gate."
Anne was too late. Charlie had not outgrown the instinct of rushing to his mother with his troubles; and he was despairingly telling the report he had heard of a direful catastrophe, fatal to an unknown quantity of passengers, while she, strong and composed because he gave way, was trying to sift his intelligence. No sooner did he hear from Anne that Julius was going to the station, than he started up to accompany him-the best thing he could do in his present state. Hardly, however, had he closed the door, before he returned with fresh tears in his eyes, leading in Eleonora Vivian, whom he had found leaning against the wall outside, white and still, scarce drawing her breath.
"Come," he said; and before she knew what he was doing, she was at Mrs. Poynsett's side. "Here, mother," he said, "take her." And he was gone.
Mrs. Poynsett stretched out her arms. The hearts of the two women who loved Frank could not help meeting. Eleonora sank on her knees, hiding her face on the mother's breast, with two tender arms clasped round her.
Anne was kneeling too, but she was no longer the meek, shy stranger. Now, in the hour of trouble, she poured forth, in a voice fervent and sweet, a prayer for protection and support for their beloved one, so that it might be well with him, whatever might be his Heavenly Father's Will.
As she paused, Mrs. Poynsett, in a choked voice, said, "Thank you, dear child;" when there were steps in the hall. Anne started up, Lenore buried her face on Mrs. Poynsett's bosom, the mother clasped her hands over her convulsively, then beheld, as the door opened, a tall figure, with a dark bright face full of ineffable softness and joy. Frank himself, safe and sound, with his two brothers behind him. They stayed not to speak, but hastened to spread the glad tidings; while he flung himself down, including both his mother and Lenore in one rapturous embrace, and carrying his kiss from one to the other-conscious, if no one else was, that this first seal of his love was given in his mother's arms.
Lenore did indeed extricate herself, and stand up as rosy red as she had been pale; but she had no room for any thought beyond his mother's trembling "Not hurt, my dear?"
"Not hurt! Not a scratch! Thank God! Oh! thank God!" answered Frank, quivering all over with thankfulness, though probably far more at the present joy than the past peril.
"Yes-oh, thanks for His mercy!" echoed Anne, giving fervent hand and tearful cheek to the eager salutation, which probably would have been as energetic to Clio or old Betty at that moment!
"But there's blood on your wristband," cried the mother. "You are hurt!"
"No; it's not mine. I didn't know it. It is from the poor fellow I helped to carry into the public-house at Knoll, just this side Backsworth, a good deal hurt, I'm afraid. Something had got on the lines, I believe. I was half asleep, and knew nothing till I found ourselves all crushed up together in the dark, upside-down, my feet above my head. There was but one man in my carriage, and we didn't get foul of one another, and found we were all right, when we scrambled out of the window. So we helped out the others, and found that, besides the engineer and stoker-who I don't suppose can live, poor fellows!-there was only this man much damaged. Then, when there seemed no more to be done, I took my bag and walked across country, to reach home before you heard. But oh, this is worth anything!"