Rachel had a very restless fit on. She was a child full of impulses,
with spirits wildly high one day and proportionately depressed the next;
but the restlessness of her present condition did not resemble the
capricious and ever-changing moods which usually visited her. The uneasy
spirit which prevented her taking kindly to her lessons, which took the
charm from her play-hours and the pleasure even from Kitty's society,
had lasted now for months; it had its date from a certain lovely
summer's evening. Had Aunt Griselda and Aunt Katharine known more about
what their little niece did on that occasion, they might have attributed
her altered mood to an over-long ride and to some physical weakness.
But Rachel was wonderfully strong; her cheeks bloomed; her dark eyes
sparkled; and the old ladies were interested just now in some one whom
they considered far more important than Rachel. So the little girl
neglected her lessons without getting into any very serious scrapes, and
more than once rode alone into the forest on Surefoot without being
reprimanded. Rachel would steal away from Kitty and from little Phil,
and would imperiously order Robert to saddle her pony and to ride with
her just a very little way into the forest; but then the groom was not
only allowed, but requested to turn off in another direction, and Rachel
would gallop as fast as possible past Rufus' Stone, and on as far as
that lovely glade where she had sat and gathered bluebells in the
summer. She always dismounted from Surefoot here, and standing with her
back to an old oak tree, waited with intense expectancy. She never went
further than the oak tree; she never went down a narrow path which led
to a certain cottage clothed completely in green; but she waited, with
her hands clasped and her eyes fixed eagerly on the distant vista of
forest trees. Sometimes her eyes would sparkle, and she would clap her
hands joyfully and run to meet a prim-looking old woman who came forward
through the shades to meet her. Sometimes she returned home without
seeing anybody, and on these occasions she was apt to be morose--snappish
to Kitty, rude to Mrs. Lovel and Phil, and, in short, disagreeable to
every one, except perhaps her gentle Aunt Katharine.
The old ladies would vaguely wonder what ailed the child, and Miss
Griselda would hope she was not going to be famous for the Lovel temper;
but as their minds were very full of other things they did not really
investigate matters.
One frosty day about the middle of November, when Phil and his mother
had been quite four months at Avonsyde, Rachel started off earlier than
usual for one of her long rides. The forest was full of a wonderful
mystical sort of beauty at all times and seasons, and now, with the
hoar-frost sparkling on the grass, with the sun shining brightly, and
with many of the autumn tints still lingering on the trees, it seemed
almost as delightful a place to Rachel as when clothed in its full
summer glory. The little brown-coated winter birds chirped cozily among
the branches of the trees, and hundreds of squirrels in a wealth of
winter furs bounded from bough to bough. Rachel as usual dismissed her
faithful attendant, Robert, and galloping to her accustomed
trysting-place, waited eagerly for what might befall.
On this particular day she was not doomed to disappointment. The old
servant was soon seen approaching. Rachel ran to her, clasped her hands
round her arm, and raising her lips to her face, kissed her
affectionately.
"Ah, you are a good Nancy to-day!" she exclaimed. "I was here on
Saturday and here on Wednesday, and you never came. It was very unkind
of you. I got so tired of standing by the oak tree and waiting. Well,
Nancy, is the lady quite well to-day?"
"Middling, dearie; middling she ever is and will be until she claims her
own again."
"Oh, you mysterious old woman! You are trying to make me desperately
curious, but I don't believe there is anything in your talk. You worry
me to keep a tremendous secret, and there's nothing in it, after all.
Oh, of course I'm keeping your secret; you needn't pretend to be so
frightened. And when am I to see the lady of the forest, Nancy?"
"Now, my dear, haven't I told you until I'm tired? You're to see her
come your thirteenth birthday, love. The day you are thirteen you'll see
her, and not an hour sooner."
Rachel stamped her foot angrily.
"I shan't have a birthday till the beginning of May!" she said. "It's a
shame; it's a perfect, perfect shame!"
Old Nancy pushed back a rebellious curl from the child's bright head.
"Don't you fret, my pretty," she said tenderly. "The lady wants to see
you a deal--a sight more than you want to see her. The lady has passed
through many troubles, and not the least is the waiting to see your
pretty face."
Rachel began eagerly to unbutton her habit, and taking from a little
pocket just inside its lining a tiny bag, she pulled out a small ring
and thrust it into Nancy's hand.
"There," she said, "that's the most precious thing I have, and I give it
to her. It's all gold, and isn't that a beautiful pearl? I used to wear
it on my finger when I wanted to be very grand, but I'd rather she had
it. Perhaps she won't feel so lonely when she wears it, for she will
remember that it was given to her by a little girl who is so sorry for
her, and who loves her--yes, isn't it queer?--although we have never met.
You know, Nancy," continued Rachel, "I can quite sympathize with lonely
people, for to a certain extent I know what it means. I miss my mother
so very much. When I'm grown up, Nancy, I'm going all round the wide
world looking for her."
"Bless you, darling!" said old Nancy. "Yes, I'll give the ring and your
pretty message. And now, love, tell me, how is the little gentleman
getting on? Have the old ladies made him their heir yet?"
"Not quite yet, Nancy; but they like him--we all like him. He is a dear
little boy, and Aunt Griselda and Aunt Katharine make such a fuss about
him. Do you know that a week ago I saw Aunt Griselda actually put her
arms about his neck and kiss him! She kissed him three or four times.
Wasn't it wonderful? for she's such a cold person. I think people can't
help being fond of little Phil, though he's not exactly pretty. I heard
Aunt Griselda and Aunt Katharine say that when they do really feel
certain that he is the right heir they are going to have a great,
tremendous party, and they will present him to every one as the heir of
Avonsyde, and then immediately afterward he is to be sent to a
preparatory school for Eton. Oh, won't Kitty cry when he goes away!"
"Do you make out that the ladies will soon come to a decision, Miss
Rachel?" inquired the old servant in a dubious tone. "It's a wonderful
important matter--choosing an heir. Are they likely to settle it all in a
hurry?"
Rachel laughed.
"I don't know," she said. "Phil has been with us for four months now;
they haven't been in such a hurry. I do hope it will be soon, for I want
the party. Now, good-by, Nancy; I'll come to see you before long again.
Be sure you give my ring to the lady of the forest."
"One moment, missy," said old Nancy, stretching out her hand and drawing
the young girl back to her side. "One moment, Miss Rachel Lovel; I'm
fain to see that little boy. Could you manage to bring him this way,
missy? Could you manage it without nobody finding out? Is he the kind of
little fellow who wouldn't tell if you asked him earnest, most earnest,
not? I'd like to see him and the lady; but no matter, Miss Rachel, I
misdoubt me that you could manage a clever thing like that."
"Oh, couldn't I?" said Rachel, her eyes sparkling. "Why, I'd like it of
all things! I can easily coax Phil to come here, for he's perfectly wild
about squirrels and animals of all kinds, and I never saw such a lot of
squirrels as there are in the oaks round here. Phil has got a pony too,
and he shall come for a ride with me, and Robert of course can come to
take care of us. Oh, I'll manage it; but I didn't know you were such a
curious woman, Nancy."
The sun was already showing signs of taking its departure, and Rachel
did not dare to prolong her interview another moment.