Kitty and Philip ran off together hand in hand. They were about the same
height, but Kitty's fair, healthy, flushed face showed in strong
contrast to Phil's pallor, and her round and sturdy limbs gave promise
of coming health and beauty; whereas Phil's slight form only suggested
possible illness, and to a watchful eye would have betokened a short
life. But the boy was wiry and just now he was strongly excited. It was
delightful to be in the real country and more than delightful to go out
with Kitty.
"You are my cousin, aren't you?" said the little maid, favoring him with
a full, direct glance.
"I suppose so," he answered. "Yes, I suppose so. I don't quite know."
Kitty stamped her foot.
"Don't say that!" she replied. "I hate people who are not quite sure
about things. I want to have a real boy cousin to play with. Two or
three make-believes came here, but they went away again. Of course we
all found them out at once, and they went away. I do trust you are not
another make-believe, Philip. You're very pale and very thin, but I do
hope what's of you is real."
"Oh, yes; what's of me is real enough," said Phil, with a little sigh.
"Where are you going to take me, Kitty? Into the forest? I want to see
the forest. I wonder will it be as fine as the forest where Ru----I mean
where a cousin of mine and I used to play?"
"Oh, have you another cousin besides me? How exciting!"
"Yes; but I don't want to talk about him. Are we going into the forest?"
"If you like. You see those trees over there? All that is forest; and
then there is a bit of wild moorland, and then more trees; and there is
a pine wood, with such a sweet smell. It's all quite close, and I see it
every day. It isn't very exciting when you see it every day. Your eyes
need not shine like that. You had much better take things quietly,
especially as you are such a very thin boy. Aunt Katharine says thin
people should never get excited. She says it wears them out. Well, if
you must come into the forest I suppose you must; but would you not like
something to eat first? I know what we are to have for tea. Shall I tell
you?"
"Yes," said Phil; "tell me when we have got under the trees; tell me
when I am looking up through the branches for the birds and the
squirrels. You have not such gay birds as ours, for I watched yours when
I was coming in the train from Southampton; but oh! don't they sing!"
"You are a very queer boy," said Kitty. "Birds and squirrels and forest
trees, when you might be hearing about delicious frosted cake and jam
rolly-polies. Well, take my hand and let's run into the forest; let's
get it over, if we must get it over. I'll take you down to the Avon to
fish to-morrow. I like fishing--don't you?"
"Yes," said Phil. "I like nearly everything. Do you fish with flies or
bait?"
"Oh, with horrid bait! that is the worst of it; but I generally get
Robert--one of our grooms--to bait my lines."
The children were now under the shade of the trees, and Kitty, after
running about until she was tired, climbed into one of the branches of a
wide-spreading beech tree and rocked herself in a very contented manner
backward and forward. Phil was certainly a very queer little boy, but
she was quite convinced he must be her real true cousin, that he was not
a make-believe, that he would stay on at Avonsyde as the heir, and that
she would always have a companion of her own age to play with.
"He will get tired of the forest by and by," she said to herself, "and
then he will like best to play with me, and we can fish all day
together. How jolly that will be! What a good thing it is that he is so
nearly my own age, and that he is not older; for if he were he would go
every where with Rachel and be her friend. I should not like that at
all," concluded the little girl, with a very selfish though natural sigh
of satisfaction.
Presently Phil--having wandered about to his heart's content, having
ascertained the color of several birds which sang over his head, having
treasured up the peculiar quality of their different notes, and having
ascertained beyond all doubt that the English forest was quite the
quaintest and most lovely place in the world--came back and climbed into
the tree by Kitty's side.
"I'd like him to see it awfully," he said.
"Who, Phil?"
"I can't tell you--that's my secret. Kitty, you'll never find that I
shall get accustomed to the forest--I mean so accustomed that I shan't
want to come here. Oh, never, never! A place like this must always have
something new to show you. Kitty, can you imitate all the birds' notes
yet?"
"I can't imitate one of them," said Kitty, with an impatient frown
coming between her eyebrows.
"But I know what I want to be doing, and I only wish you had the same
want."
"Perhaps I have. What is it?"
"Oh, no, you haven't. You're just like the goody-goody, awfully learned
boys of the story-book. I do wish you wouldn't go into raptures about
stupid trees and birds and things!"
Phil's little pale face flushed.
"Rupert--I mean--I mean my dearest friend--a boy you know nothing about,
Kitty--never spoke about its being goody-goody to love things of this
sort, and he is manly if you like. I can't help loving them. But what is
your want, Kitty?"
"Oh, to have my mouth crammed full of jam rolly-poly! I am so hungry!"
"So am I too. Let's run back to the house."
When Philip and Kitty had gone off together for their first exploring
expedition, when the two little strangers to one another had clasped
hands and gone out through the open hall-door and down the shady lawns
together, Rachel had followed them for a few paces.
She stood still shading her eyes with one hand as she gazed after their
retreating figures; then whistling to an English terrier of the name of
Jupiter, she ran round to the stables and encountered one of the grooms.
"Robert, put the side-saddle on Surefoot and come with me into the
forest. It is a lovely evening, and I am going for a long ride."
Robert, a very young and rather sheepish groom, looked appealingly at
the bright and pretty speaker.
"My mother is ill, Miss Rachel, and Peter do say as I may go home and
see her. Couldn't you ride another evening, missy?"
"No, I'm going to ride to-night. I wish to and I'm going; but you need
not come with me; it is quite unnecessary. I should like nothing so well
as having a long ride on Surefoot all alone."
"But the ladies do say, Miss Rachel, as you are not to ride in the
forest by yourself. Oh, if you will go, missy, why, I must just put off
seeing my poor mother until to-morrow."
Rachel stamped her foot impatiently.
"Nonsense, Robert!" she said. "I am going to ride alone. I will explain
matters to my aunts, so you need not be at all afraid. Put the
side-saddle on Surefoot at once!"
Robert's conscience was easily appeased. He ran off and quickly returned
with the rough little forest pony, and Rachel, mounting, cantered off.
She was an excellent rider and had not a scrap of fear in her nature.
She entered the forest by the long straight avenue; and Surefoot,
delighted to feel his feet on the smooth, velvety sward, trotted along
gayly.
"Now I am free!" said the girl. "How delightful it is to ride all by
myself. I will go a long, long way this beautiful evening."
It was a perfect summer's evening, and Rachel was riding through scenery
of exquisite beauty. Birds sang blithely to her as she flew lightly over
the ground; squirrels looked down at her from among the branches of the
forest oaks; many wild flowers smiled up at her, and all nature seemed
to sympathize with her gay youth and beauty.
She was a romantic, impulsive child, and lived more or less in a world
of her own imaginings.
The forest was the happiest home in the world to Rachel; Avonsyde was
well enough, but no place was like the forest itself. She had a strong
impression that it was still peopled by fairies. She devoured all the
legends that Mrs. Newbolt, her aunt's maid, and John Eyre, one of the
agisters of the forest, could impart to her. Both these good people had
a lurking belief in ghosts and fairies. Eyre swore that he had many and
many a time seen the treacherous little Jack-o'-lanterns. He told
horrible stories of strangers who were lured into bogs by these
deceitful little sprites. But Mrs. Newbolt had a far more wonderful and
exciting tale to tell than this; for she spoke of a lady who, all in
green, flitted through the forest--a lady with a form of almost spiritual
etherealness, and with such a lovely face that those who were fortunate
enough to see her ever after retained on their own countenances a faint
reflection of her rare beauty. Rachel had heard of this forest lady
almost from the first moment of her residence at Avonsyde. She built
many brilliant castles in the air about her, and she and Kitty most
earnestly desired to see her. Of course they had never yet done so, but
their belief in her was not a whit diminished, and they never went into
the forest without having a dim kind of hope that they might behold the
lady.
Newbolt said that she appeared to very few, but she admitted that on one
or two occasions of great and special moment she had revealed herself to
some fair dames of the house of Lovel. She never appeared to two people
together, and in consequence Rachel always longed to go into the forest
alone. She felt excited to-night, and she said to herself more than
once, "I wonder if I shall see her. She comes on great occasions; surely
this must be a great occasion if the long-looked-for heir has come to
Avonsyde. I do wonder if that little boy is the heir!"
Rachel rode on, quite forgetful of time; the rapid motion and the lovely
evening raised her always versatile spirits. Her cheeks glowed; her dark
eyes shone; she tossed back her rebellious curly locks and laughed aloud
once or twice out of pure happiness.
She intended to go a long way, to penetrate further into the shades of
the wonderful forest than she had ever done yet; but even she was
unconscious how very far she was riding.
It is easy to lose one's way in the New Forest, and Rachel, accustomed
as she was to all that part which immediately surrounded Avonsyde,
presently found herself in a new country. She had left Rufus' Stone far
behind and was now riding down a gentle descent, when something induced
the adventurous little lady to consult her watch. The hour pointed to
six o'clock. It would be light for a long time yet, for it was quite the
middle of summer, and Rachel reflected that as tea-time was past, and as
she would certainly be well scolded when she returned, she might as well
stay out a little longer.
"'In for a penny, in for a pound!'" she said. "The aunties will be so
angry with me, but I don't care; I mean to enjoy myself to-night. Oh,
what a tempting green bank, and what a carpet of bluebells just there to
the right! I must get some. Surefoot shall have a rest and a nibble at
some of the grass, and I'll pick the flowers and sit on the bank for a
little time."
Surefoot was very well pleased with this arrangement. He instantly, with
unerring instinct, selected the juiciest and most succulent herbage
which the place afforded, and was happy after his fashion. Rachel picked
bluebells until she had her hands full; then seating herself, she began
to arrange them. She had found a small clearing in the forest, and her
seat was on the twisted and gnarled roots of a giant oak tree. Her feet
were resting on a thick carpet of moss; immediately before her lay
broken and undulating ground, clothed with the greenest grass, with the
most perfect fronds of moss, and bestrewn with tiny silvery stems and
bits of branches from the neighboring trees. A little further off was a
great foreground of bracken, which completely clothed a very gentle
ascent, and then the whole horizon was bounded by a semicircle of
magnificent birch, oak, and beech. Some cows were feeding in the
distance--they wore bells, which tinkled merrily; the doves cooed and the
birds sang; the softest of zephyrs played among the trees; the evening
sun flickered slant-wise through the branches and lay in brightness on
the greensward; and Rachel, who was intensely sensitive to nature,
clasped her hands in ecstasy.
"Oh, it is good of God to make such a beautiful world!" she said,
speaking aloud in her enthusiasm; but just then something riveted
Rachel's attention. She sprang to her feet, forgot her bluebells, which
fell in a shower around her, and in this fresh interest became utterly
oblivious to the loveliness of the scene. A lady in a plain dark dress
was walking slowly, very slowly, between the trees. She was coming
toward Rachel, but evidently had not seen her, for her eyes were fixed
on the pages of an open book, and as she read her lips moved, as though
she were learning something to repeat aloud. This part of the forest was
so remote and solitary for it was miles away from any gentleman's seat,
that Rachel for a moment was startled.
"Who can she be?" was her first exclamation; her second was a delighted--
"Oh, perhaps she is the lady of the forest!"
Then she exclaimed with vexation:
"No, no, she cannot be. The lady always wears green and is almost
transparent, and her face is so lovely. This lady is in dark clothes and
she is reading and murmuring words to herself. She looks exactly as if
she were learning a stupid lesson to say aloud. Oh, I am disappointed! I
had such a hope she might be the lady of the forest. I wonder where she
can live; there's no house near this. Oh, dear! oh, dear! she is coming
this way; she will pass me. Shall I speak to her? I almost think I will.
She seems to have a nice face, although she is not very young and she is
not very beautiful."
The lady walked slowly on, her eyes still bent on her book, and so it
happened that she never saw the radiant figure of pretty little Rachel
until she was opposite to her. Her quiet, darkly fringed gray eyes were
lifted then and surveyed the child first with astonishment; then with
curiosity; then with very palpable agitation, wonder, and distress.
Rachel came a step nearer and was about to open her lips, when the lady
abruptly closed her book, as abruptly turned on her heel, and walked
rapidly, very rapidly, in the opposite direction away from the child.
"Oh, stop!" cried Rachel. "I want to speak to you. Who are you? It's
very interesting meeting you here in the very midst of the forest!
Please don't walk away so fast! Do tell me who you are! There, you are
almost running, and I can't keep up with you! What a rude forest lady
you are! Well, I never knew any one so rude before!"
The lady had indeed quickened her steps, and before Rachel could reach
her she had disappeared through a small green-covered porch into a tiny
house, so clothed with innumerable creepers that at a distance it could
scarcely be distinguished from the forest itself. Rachel stood panting
and indignant outside the door. She had forgotten Surefoot; she had
forgotten everything in the world but this rude lady who would not speak
to her.
Rachel was a very passionate child, and in her first indignation she
felt inclined to pull the bell and insist upon seeing and conversing
with the strange, silent lady. Before she could carry this idea into
execution the door was opened and a neatly dressed elderly servant came
out.
"Well, little miss, and what is your pleasure?" she said.
"I want to see the lady," said Rachel; "she is a very rude lady. I asked
her some civil questions and she would not answer."
The old servant laid her hand on Rachel's arm and drew her a few steps
away from the bowerlike house.
"What is your name, little miss?" she said.
"My name? Rachel Lovel, of course. Don't you know? Everybody knows me in
the forest. I'm Rachel Lovel of Avonsyde, and my pony's name is
Surefoot, and I have a sister called Kitty."
"Well, missy," continued the old woman, "I have no reason at all to
misdoubt your tale, but the forest is a big place, and even the grandest
little ladies are not known when they stray too far from home. I have no
doubt, missy, that you are Miss Lovel, and I have no doubt also that you
have a kind heart, although you have a hasty tongue. Now, you know, it
was very rude of you to run after my lady when she didn't want to speak
to you. My lady was much upset by your following her, and you have done
great mischief by just being such a curious little body."
"Mischief, have I?" said Rachel; then she laughed. "But that is quite
impossible," she added, "for I never even touched the rude lady."
"You may do mischief, Miss Lovel, by many means, and curiosity is one of
the most spiteful of the vices. It's my opinion that more mischief can
be laid to curiosity's door than to any other door. From Eve down it was
curiosity did the sin. Now, missy, my lady is lonely and unhappy, and
she don't want no one to know--no one in all the wide world--that she
lives in this little wild forest house; and if you tell, if you ever
tell that you have seen her, or that you know where she lives, why, you
will break the heart of the sweetest and gentlest lady that ever lived."
"I don't want to break any one's heart," said Rachel, turning pale.
"What very queer things you say. I don't want to break any one's heart.
I think I'll go home now."
"Not until you have promised me first, Miss Lovel--not until you have
promised me true and faithful."
"Oh, I'll only tell Kitty and my aunties. I never care to talk to
strangers about things. There's a new little boy come to Avonsyde--a new
little boy and his mother. Of course I won't say anything to either of
them, but I never keep secrets from Kitty--never!"
"Very well, miss; then my lady will have to go away. She is very tired
and not strong, and she has just settled down in this little house,
where she wants to rest and to be near--to be in the forest; and if you
tell those aunts of yours and your little sister--if you tell anybody in
all the wide world--she will have to go away again. We must pack up to
night and we will be off in the morning. We'll have to wander once more,
and she'll be sad and ill and lonely; but of course you won't care."
"What a cruel old woman you are!" said Rachel. "Of course I don't want
anybody to be sad and lonely. I don't want to injure the forest lady,
although I cannot make out why she should have to live so secret here.
Is she a wicked lady and has she committed a crime?"
"Wicked?" said the old woman, her eyes flashing. "Ah, missy, that such
words should drop from your lips, and about her! Are the angels in
heaven wicked? Oh, my dear, good, brave lady! No, missy. She has to keep
her secret, but it is because of a cruel sin and injustice done to her,
not because of any wrong done by her. Well, good-night, miss. I'll say
no more. We must be off, we two, in the morning."
"No, don't go!" called out Rachel. "Of course I won't tell. If she's
such a dear, good lady, I'll respect her and love her and keep her
secret; only I should like to see her and to know her name."
"All in good time, my dear little missy. Thank God, you will be faithful
to this good and wronged lady."
"Yes, I'll be very faithful," said Rachel. "Not even to Kitty will I
breathe one word. And now I must really go home."
"God bless you, dear little miss--eh, but you're a bonny child. And is
the one you call Kitty as fair to look at?"
"As fair to look at?" laughed Rachel. "Why, I'm as brown as a nut and
Kitty is dazzling. Kitty is pink and white, and if you only saw her
hair! It's like threads of gold."
"And the little gentleman, dear?--you spoke of a little gentleman as
well. Is he your brother, love?"
"My brother?" laughed Rachel. "I have no one but Kitty. I have a mother
living somewhere--she's lost, my mother is, and I'm going all round the
world to look for her when I'm old enough; but I have no brother--I wish
I had. Philip Lovel is a little new, strange boy who is going to be heir
of Avonsyde. He came to-day with his mother. I don't much like his
mother. Now good-night, old woman. I'll keep the good lady's secret most
faithfully."
Rachel blew a kiss to the anxious-looking old servant, then ran gayly
back to where she had left Surefoot. In the excitement of the last
half-hour she had quite forgotten her withered bluebells. Mounting her
pony, she galloped as fast as she could in the direction of Avonsyde. It
was very late when she got back, but, strange to say, the old aunts were
so much interested in Mrs. Lovel and in Mrs. Lovel's boy that they
forgot to scold her or to remark her absence. She longed intensely to
tell Kitty all about the thrilling and romantic adventure she had just
gone through, but she was a loyal child, and having once passed her
word, nothing would induce her to break it. Kitty, too, was taken up
with Philip Lovel, and Rachel, finding she was not wanted, ran up to her
bedroom and lost herself in the charms of a fairy tale.