The spring came early that year. A rather severe winter gave place to
charming and genial weather. In April it was hot, and the trees made
haste to clothe themselves with their most delicate and fairy green, the
flowers peeped out joyfully, the birds sang from morning till night, and
the forest became paradise.
Rachel, Kitty, and Phil almost lived there. Miss Griselda and Miss
Katharine had become lenient in the matter of lessons. Miss Griselda was
wise enough to believe in nature's lessons and to think fine fresh air
the best tonic in all the world for both mind and body. Phil was in his
element in the forest. He was always finding new beetles and fresh
varieties of chrysalides, which he and Kitty carefully treasured; and as
to the roots and the flowers and the mosses which these children
collected, even good-natured Newbolt at last gave vent to strong
expressions of disapproval, and asked if the whole of the house was to
be turned topsy-turvy with their messes.
Phil could do what he liked in his old tower bedroom; his mother never
interfered with him there. This quaint old room was Liberty Hall to
Phil. Here he could groan if he wanted to, or sigh if he wanted to, or
talk his secrets to the silent, faithful walls if he wanted to; and here
he brought his spiders and his beetles and his mosses, and kept them in
odd bottles and under broken glasses, and messed away to his heart's
content without any one saying him nay.
Downstairs Mrs. Lovel was a most careful and correct mother--never
petting and never spoiling, always on her guard, always watchful and
prim. Miss Griselda was wont to say that with all her follies she had
never come across a more sagacious and sensible mother than Mrs. Lovel.
As a mother she approved of her absolutely; but then Miss Griselda never
saw behind the scenes; she never saw what went on in the tower bedroom,
where Mrs. Lovel would take the boy in her arms, and strain him to her
heart with passionate kisses, and pet him and make much of him, and
consult him, and, above all things, faithfully promise him that after
the 5th of May the burden which was crushing his young life should be
removed, and he might be his own natural and unrestrained self again.
Mrs. Lovel had got a dreadful fright when she first read young Rupert's
letter; but when day after day and week after week passed and no tidings
of Rupert or his father reached Avonsyde, she began to hope that even
though they were in England, they had come over on business in no way
connected with the old family home; in short, even though they were in
England, they had not seen those advertisements which had almost turned
her head.
The weeks passed quickly, and she began to breathe freely and to be
almost happy once more. The loss of the tankard was certainly
disquieting, but she felt sure that with the aid of the stolen letters
she could substantiate her boy's claim, and she also reflected that if
the tankard was lost to her it was also lost to her brother-in-law,
Rupert Lovel.
So life went quite smoothly at Avonsyde, and day after day the weather
became more balmy and springlike, and day after day Miss Griselda's
face wore a softer and gentler expression; for the little heir-apparent
was altogether after her own heart, and she was contented, as all women
are when they find a worthy object to love.
Miss Katharine too was smiling and happy in these early spring days. She
had never forgotten the face of the mother who had left her two children
in her charge nearly six years ago. That young and agonized face had
haunted her dreams; some words which those poor trembling lips had
uttered had recurred to her over and over.
"It breaks my heart to part with the children," the mother had said,
"but if in no other way I can provide for their future, I sacrifice
myself willingly. I am willing to obliterate myself for their sakes."
Miss Katharine had felt, when these words were wrung from a brave and
troubled heart, that pride was indeed demanding a cruel thing; but for
Miss Griselda she would have said:
"Come here with your children. You are Valentine's wife, and for his
sake we will be good to you as well as them."
Miss Katharine had longed to say these words, but fear of her elder
sister had kept her silent, and ever since her heart had reproached her.
Now she felt cheerful, for she knew that on Rachel's birthday the mother
of the children would return, and she knew also that when she came she
would not go away again.
Rachel's charming little face had lost a good deal of its watchful and
unrestful expression during the last few weeks. She had seen Nancy White
more than once, and Nancy had so strongly impressed on her the fact that
on the 5th of May the lady of the forest would reveal herself, and all
the mystery of her secret and her seclusion be explained, that the
little girl grew hopeful and bright and fixed her longing eyes on that
birthday which was to mean so much to so many. Kitty too looked forward
to the 5th of May as to a delightful general holiday; in short, every
one was excited about it, except the child to whom it meant the most of
all. Little Phil alone was unconcerned about the great day--little Phil
alone lived happily in the present, and, if anything, rather put the
future out of sight. To him the thought of the inheritance which on that
day was to be forced upon him was felt to be a heavy burden; but, then,
those little shoulders were already over-weighted, and God knew and
little Phil also knew that they could not bear any added burden.
Of late little Phil had been very glad to feel that God knew about his
secrets and his cares, and in his own very simple, childish little way
he used lately to ask him not to add to them; and now that he was sure
God knew everything, he ceased to trouble his head very much about all
that was to happen on Rachel's birthday.
Thus every one at Avonsyde, with the exception of little Phil, was happy
in the future, but he alone was perfectly happy in the present. His
collection of all kinds of natural curiosities grew and multiplied, and
he spent more and more time in the lovely forest. The delicious spring
air did him good, and his mother once more hoped and almost believed
that health and strength lay before him.
One day, quite toward the end of April, Kitty, his constant companion,
had grown tired and refused to stay out any longer. The day was quite
hot, and the little boy wandered on alone under the shade of the trees.
As usual when quite by himself, he chose the least-frequented paths, and
as usual the vague hope came over him that he might see the lovely green
lady of the forest. No such exquisite vision was permitted to him, but
instead he came suddenly upon Nancy White, who was walking in the forest
and picking up small dry branches and sticks, which she placed in a
large basket hung over her arm. When she saw Phil she started and almost
dropped her basket.
"Well I never!" she exclaimed. "You has gone and given me a start,
little master."
"How do you do, Nancy?" said Phil, going up to her, speaking in a polite
voice, and holding out his hand. "How is the lady of the forest? Please
tell her that, I have kept her secret most carefully, that no one knows
it but Rachel, and she knew it long ago. I hope the lady is very well,
Nancy."
"Yes, my dear, she is well and hopeful. The days are going on, Master
Philip Lovel, and each day as it passes brings a little more hope. I am
sure you are little gentleman enough to keep the lady's secret."
"Everybody speaks about the days passing and hope growing," said Phil.
"I--I--Nancy, did you ever see the green lady about here? She could bring
me hope. How I wish I could see her!"
"Now, don't be fanciful, my dear little gentleman," answered Nancy.
"Them thoughts about fairies and such-like are very bad for growing
children. You shouldn't allow your head to wander on such nonsense.
Little boys and girls should attend to their spelling lessons, and eat
plenty, and go to bed early, and then they have no time for fretting
after fairies and such. It isn't canny to hear you talk as you do of the
green lady, Master Phil."
"Isn't it?" said Phil. "I am sorry. I do wish to see her. I want a gift
from her. Good-by, Nancy. Give my love to the lady."
"I will so, dear; and tell me, are you feeling any way more perky--like
yourself?"
"I'm very well, except when I'm very bad," answered Phil. "Just now I'm
as well as possible, but in the evenings I sometimes get tired, and then
it rather hurts me to mount up so many stairs to my tower bedroom; but
oh! I would not sleep in any other room for the world. I love my tower
room."
"Well, you'll be a very happy little boy soon," said Nancy--"a very
happy, rich little boy; for if folks say true everything has to be given
to you on the 5th of May."
"A lot of money and lands, you mean," said Phil. "Oh, yes; but they
aren't everything--oh, dear, no! I know what I want, and I am not likely
to have it. Good-by, Nancy; good-by."
Phil ran off, and Nancy pursued her walk stolidly and soberly.
"The look grows," she said to herself--"the look grows and deepens. Poor
little lad! he is right enough when he says that gold and lands won't
satisfy him. Well, now, I'm doing him no harm by keeping back the silver
tankard. It's only his good-for-nothing mother as will be put out, and
that middle-aged man in London and that other boy. What do I care for
that other boy, or for any one in all the world but my missus and her
dear little ladies? There, there, that tankard is worse than a nightmare
to me. I hate it, and I'd give all the world never to have seen it; but
there, now that I've got it I'll keep it."