Set in Silver Part 16

I knew then, dearest, that he was no dragon, no matter what circ.u.mstantial evidence may have been handed down to Ellaline as a legacy from her dead mother. That is something to have divined by the magic of the forest, isn't it, after I've been puzzling so long? There is now not the least doubt in my mind. So if I should be silly and sentimental enough to fancy myself in love, it can't do any harm, except to make me a little sorry and sad after I've come home to you. It won't be anything to be _ashamed_ of, to have cared about a man like Sir Lionel; because I a.s.sure you I shan't behave foolishly, no matter how I may eventually feel. You can trust your Audrie for that.

It was too dark to tell the time by a watch, but we remarked to each other that they must have finished dinner long ago; and Sir Lionel hoped this wouldn't spoil the memory of my birthday for me.

"Oh, no," said I, before I thought, "it will make it better. I shall never, never forget this."

"Nor I," said he, in a pleasant, quiet tone.

Then he went on to tell me that he had a little birthday remembrance which all day he'd been wanting to give me. It was a ruby ring, because the ruby was July's stone, but I needn't wear it unless I liked. He hoped I wouldn't mind his having disobeyed me when I said I wanted nothing, because he wished very much to give it to me. And having lived alone, and ordered his own and other people's affairs for so long, had accustomed him to having his own way. Would I be kind to him, and accept his present?

I couldn't say no, under those stars and in that enchantment. So I answered that I would take the ring--knowing all the while I must soon hand it over to Ellaline.

"Shall I give it to you now?" he asked, "or will you wait till to-morrow?"

I did want to see it, though it was to be only borrowed! "Now," said I.

Then he took a ring from some pocket, and tried to slip it over a finger of the hand on his arm.

"Oh, but that's the engaged finger," I burst out.

Silly of me! I might have let him put it on, and changed it afterward.

"I beg your pardon," said he, almost as if he were startled. "That will be a younger man's privilege some day, and then you will be taken away from me."

"You will be glad to get rid of me, I should think," I hurried to say, stretching out my other hand, and letting him slip the ring on the third finger.

"Should you think so?" he echoed. "I suppose you have the right to feel that, after the past. But don't feel it. Don't, child."

That was all, and I didn't answer. I couldn't; for what he had said was for Ellaline, not for me. Yet it made my heart beat, his voice was so sincere, and fuller of emotion than I'd ever heard it yet.

Just then, into our darkness a light seemed to flash. We both saw it together. I thought it might be the hotel, but Sir Lionel said he feared it was more probably the window of some remote cottage or charcoal-burner's hut.

We walked toward it, and that was what it was: a charcoal-burner's hut.

Sir Lionel must have been disappointed, because he wanted to get me home, but _I_ wasn't. I was in such a mood that I was not ready for the adventure to come to an end.

The next bit of the adventure was exactly suited to the New Forest, and we couldn't have experienced it anywhere else.

The hut was a tiny, wattled shed, and the light we'd seen came through the low, open doorway. It was the light of a fire and a candle; and there was a delicious aromatic smell of wood smoke in the air. Sir Lionel explained, as we walked up to the place, that some of these huts were hundreds of years old, remnants of the time when debtors and robbers and criminals of all sorts used to hide in the forest under the protection of the malfays. As he spoke, we almost stumbled over some obstacle in the dark, and he said that very likely it was the hearth of a vanished cottage. People had the right to leave the hearth if their house were torn down, to establish "cottage rights"; and there were a good many such, still scattered through the forest, even in the gardens of modern houses; for no one dared take them away.

The charcoal-burner was "at home," and receiving. He was engaged in cooking eggs and bacon for his supper, and if you could only guess how good they smelled! Nothing smells as nice as eggs and bacon when you are hungry, and we were ravenous.

Most things as old as that charcoal-burner are in museums; and his eyes were so close together it seemed as if they might run into one when he winked. Also, he was deaf, so we had to roar to him, before he could understand what had happened. When he did understand, though, he was a thorough trump, and said we could have his supper if we "would be pleased to eat it." Bread and cheese would do for him. And we might have tea, if we could take it without milk.

But there were three eggs, and three strips of bacon, so we insisted that we must share and share alike, or we would have nothing. I made the tea, in a battered tin pot which looked like an heirloom, and we all sat at an uncovered kitchen table together, though our host protested. It was fun; and the old thing told us weird tales of the forest which made me conscious that I have a spine and marrow, just as certain wild music does. His name is Purkess; he thinks he is descended from Purkess, the charcoal-burner who found the body of William Rufus; and his ancestors, some of whom were smugglers and poachers, have lived in the forest for a thousand years. He was so old that he could remember as a child hearing his old grandfather tell of the days of the wicked, illegal timber-selling in the forest for the building of wars.h.i.+ps. Just think, grand oaks, ash and thorn, trees stanch as English hearts, sold for the price of firewood!

I sat at the table, watching the firelight play on my ring, which I hadn't seen till we got into the hut; and it is beautiful. I shall enjoy having it, though only for a little while, and shall regard it as a trust for Ellaline.

The charcoal-burner a.s.sured us we needn't worry; he would put us on the way home, and give us landmarks which, after he'd guided us a certain distance, we couldn't miss even at night.

When we'd finished our eggs and bacon, our tea and chunks of dry bread, Sir Lionel laid a gold piece on the table. Blind as he was, the old man wasn't too blind to see _that_, and he simply beamed.

"Bless you all the days of your life, sir, and your good, pretty lady!"

he cackled.

That's the third time I've been taken for Sir Lionel's wife. The other times I didn't care, but this time, though I laughed, it was a _put on_ laugh, because of those dim questionings about myself floating in the background of my mind.

The descendant of poachers knew the forest, as he said, "with his eyes shut." He limped before us for nearly half a mile, along what he called a "walk"--a New Forest word--and then abandoned us to our fate, after describing the profile of each important tree which we must pa.s.s, and pointing out a few stars as guides. Then we bade each other good-bye for ever. He went back to gloat over his gold piece, and Sir Lionel and I went on together.

Somehow, we fell to talking of our favourite virtues, and without thinking, I said, "My mother's is grat.i.tude."

"Grat.i.tude," he repeated, as if in surprise, but he didn't seem to notice that I'd used the present tense. To make him forget my slip, I hurried on to say I thought mine was courage, in a man, anyhow. What was his, in a woman?

"Truth," he answered, with an instant's hesitation.

Luckily he couldn't see me blush in the dark. But the real Audrie was always decently truthful, wasn't she? It's only this Ellaline-Audrie that isn't free to be true.

"Only in women?" I asked, uncomfortably.

"Truth goes without saying in men--the sort of men one knows," said he.

"Don't you think women love the truth as much as men?" I persisted.

"No, I don't," he answered abruptly. Then qualified his "no," as if he ought to apologize for it. "But I haven't had much experience," he finished, a heavy, dull sound coming into his voice.

Well, dearest, that's all I have to tell you on this, my birthday night, except that we found our way back to the hotel safely, arriving about half-past ten, and only Emily was anxious about us. The other two were inclined to be frivolous; and Mrs. Senter noticed the new ring, which I had forgotten to take off my finger. Nothing ever escapes her eyes! I saw them light, and linger, but of course she didn't refer to the ring, and naturally I didn't.

I hadn't quite decided whether or not I should wear it "for every day,"

and had been inclined to think it would be better not, even at the risk of disappointing the giver. But I made up my mind, when Mrs. Senter looked so peculiarly at it, that I would brazen the thing out, and so I will.

"I envy you your adventure," she said, in what _I_ felt was a meaning voice, though Sir Lionel didn't appear to read under the commonplace surface.

I don't care if she does choose to be horrid. I don't see how she can hurt me. And as for d.i.c.k, he has done his worst. He has made me get them both asked for the tour. I should think that's enough.

We are going to stop at the Compton Arms for two or three days, running about in the car to see different parts of the forest, and coming "home"

at night. I love that way!

The only thing I don't like in going from one hotel to another, is having all sorts of queer little birthmarks on my hankies and other things in the wash. Good-bye, Angel Duck.

Your Grown-up

Daughter.

Only think, I am now of age!

By the way, Sir Lionel, who expected his ward to be a little girl (thoughtless of him!), said to-night: "You're so old, I can't get used to you."

And I retorted, "You're so young, I can't get used to _you_."

I hope it didn't sound pert, to answer like that?