The time came when he threw aside his crutch and flew, laughing, away
beyond their control. This they did not mind, for he always came back
and accompanied them on their wild rambles. He now resembled the
ordinary young man of the day as nearly as the St. Madoc tailors and
hosiers could contrive; and the astonishing fellow, with his cameo face
and his hyacinthine locks, still looked picturesque.
One morning he took Pendruddocke's fiddle and went off, in high
spirits, and when he returned in the late afternoon his face was
flushed and a new light burned in his eyes. He explained his
adventures volubly. They had a vague impression that, Orion-like, he
had been playing his stringed instrument to dolphins and waves and
things some miles off along the coast. To please him they said "_Ja_"
at every pause in his narration, and he thought they understood.
Finally he kissed their hands.
Two mornings later he started, without his fiddle, immediately after
breakfast. To Miss Ursula, who accompanied him down the road to the
village, he announced Polwern as his destination. Unsuspecting and
happy, she bade him good-bye and lovingly watched his lithe young
figure disappear behind the bounding cliff of the little bay.
Miss Olga Danilof sat reading a novel by the door of the cottage where
she lodged when the beautiful youth came up. He raised his hat--she
nodded.
"Well," she said in German, "have you told the funny old maids?"
"_Ach_," said he, "they are dear, gracious ladies--but I have told
them."
"I've heard from my brother," she remarked, taking a letter from the
book. "He trusts my judgment implicitly, as I said he would--and you
are to come with me to London at once."
"To-day?"
"By the midday train."