AT THE MAGICIAN'S.
"I would have you."
Over his work these days the magician often smiled. It seemed to him that the good in things was beginning to show very plainly. The atmosphere of Friendship was clearing; the trouble which had first shown itself when Patterson Whittredge left his home had begun to lift with the coming of his daughter. Not that Rosalind had anything to do with it; it was only one of those bits of poetical. justice that go to make life interesting.
An onlooker might have observed that he smiled oftener when engaged on the spinet than at other times; but if the magician had made any more discoveries in connection with it, he kept them to himself.
Now that the days were growing chill, a cheerful fire blazed on his hearth, before which Crisscross and Curly Q. dozed; he had found time to renew the motto over the chimney-piece, and the window-shelf was full of plants. The Arden Foresters appeared to regard the place as a club-room for their special benefit, and dropped in at all hours. The magician liked to have them there. As he sandpapered and oiled and polished, it was pleasant to glance in, now and then, at the open door, at a row of bright faces in the chimney-corner.
Once in a while Celia joined them for a few minutes. She wanted to know about the purchaser of the spinet, but Morgan seemed inclined to evade her questions. He did not deny that there was a purchaser, but the name had apparently escaped him.
Belle suggested that it might be the same mysterious individual who had bought the house, and Morgan accepted this as a happy solution when it was mentioned to him.
The cabinet-maker was a very queer person at times.
Celia sat in one corner of the high-backed settle alone this afternoon. Belle, who had come in with the news of the arrival of Rosalind's father the evening before, had just gone, and Celia, who had spent a busy morning, was reflecting that it was too late to begin a new task, and that she might as well allow herself to rest. Of late she hid taken life more quietly.
"Morgan seems to have gone out. May I come in?" It was Allan Whittredge who spoke, standing in the door.
"He was there a moment ago," Celia answered, rising.
"May I wait for him here? You agreed we were not to be enemies; can't we go a step farther, and be friends?"
Celia found no reply to this, but she sat dawn again.
Allan took the arm-chair and faced her. "I seem to be always forcing myself on you, but I'll promise you this is the last time," he said.
Still Celia had nothing to say, but she allowed him a glance of her dark eyes which was not discouraging.
Allan went on: "I am so tired of mistakes and misunderstandings that, before the subject is closed forever between us, I want you to know the exact truth in regard to my feelings.
"When I received your letter putting an end to things, at first I was hurt and angry, and I tried to persuade myself that it was for the best after all. You see, I did not know your side, and you will forgive me if I confess I thought you childish and lacking in deep feeling. Then, two years later, I saw you with the children, coming down the stairs at the Gilpin house, and something made me feel dimly that I had wronged you; but still I could not understand, until some words of Cousin Betty's suddenly made it clear. It was maddening to think what my long silence must have seemed to mean to you. Then, for the first time, I saw the real barrier between us, and the more I thought of it, the more impenetrable it became.
"But it is hard for me to give up. I have looked at it on all sides; I went away that I might think more clearly about it, and of late I have begun to hope. I believe that love worthy of the name lives on in spite of everything, and I have dared to wonder if your love could have weathered this storm; if you still cared, though it might be only enough to give me the chance to win you again." Allan bent forward in his earnestness, his eyes fixed appealingly upon the small, still figure in the corner of the settle.
"Do you not care at all, Celia?" he asked, after a moment's silence.
Celia lifted her eyes. "Care?" she cried, "I have always cared,—through everything! When I thought you knew and believed the cruel charge against my father; when I knew his heart was broken; when he was dead,—when I wanted to hate you, still I cared. Have you cared like that?"
This vehement confession, with its note of defiance, was bewildering. Allan hesitated before this unapproachable, tempestuous Celia. Then he drew his chair nearer. "Celia, dear heart, do not speak so; I have not been tried like you, but give me the chance and see how I will atone for the past."
Suddenly Celia held out her hand; "Oh, Allan, I am so very bad-tempered. I seem always determined to quarrel," she said, with a laugh that was half a sob.
This was enough, the strain was broken; Allan forsook the arm-chair for the settle.
It was perhaps some fifteen minutes later when he asked Celia if she remembered the magician, and the tiger with three white whiskers. "What a brave little girl you were," he added.
"Little goose," said Celia.
"Does that mean you will no longer follow me blindly?"
She laughed. "What made you think of it?" she asked.
"Rosalind inquired the other day if I was the boy."
"Allan, I don't know why I told the children that story."
"At least it gave me the courage to try my fate."
"I don't think it required much courage."
"You don't know," Allan replied, smiling over her head. "But now, dearest, we are going to begin again and live in a fairy tale and forget all the hard and cruel things. Do you know, I had a vision that day, in the library of the old house? I saw a fire of blazing logs, and you and I sat before it, and we weren't quarrelling."
"Dear old house! I can't bear to look at it now," Celia sighed.
"I am sorry to hear that, for I was planning to live there."
"Allan—you? Wasn't it sold?"
"I bought it through an agent. I thought perhaps I might want to sell again if—if things did not come out as I hoped."
"Even then you were thinking about it?"
"I have thought of nothing else since the day I saw you on the stairs with your arm around Belle."
"How unhappy I was! I did not dream that you still cared. It seems so long ago. Did you know your mother came to see me, Allan?"
"Yes. She has keen eyes; she knew what it meant to me. Poor mother!"
"I thought I could never forgive, but I believe I do now,—not always,—but I shall after a while."
Allan pressed his lips to the hand he held; then, still holding it, he took the little case from his pocket and put the sapphire ring on her finger. "I hope Cousin Betty will be satisfied now," he remarked.
Celia looked down at the quaint old ring. "How much it seems to stand for!" she said. "Rosalind will be glad," she added. "Do you know, I did not realize how bitter and unhappy I was until I met her one day in the cemetery. Her eyes were so sweet, they made me ashamed."
"She told me about it," Allan answered.
"Not about the rose? Did she see that? Oh, Allan—but I picked it up again and carried it home."
"She long since came to the conclusion that she was mistaken in thinking it was her rose you threw away."
It was growing dark. The magician, who had come in long ago, wisely refrained from interrupting his guests, but went about putting away his tools and smiling to himself. He was just lighting his lamp, when the shop door opened and Rosalind danced in, followed by her father.
"Mr. Pat!" exclaimed the magician. "I heard you were here. I wondered if you wouldn't come to see me;" and he shook hinds as if he would never stop, while Rosalind circled around them merrily.
"Mr. Pat was one of my boys," Morgan announced, as if it were a piece of news; adding, "We ought to make some tea."
Rosalind clapped her hands, and nodded emphatically, "Let's!" she cried. "Why, there's Uncle Allan! Where did you come from?"
"I arrived at home a few hours ago and found nobody, so I started out in search of some one. How are you, Patterson?" and the brothers clasped hands warmly.
"We are going to have tea, just as I did that day when I was so lonely, and—here's Miss Celia!" Rosalind paused in surprise.
Celia stood rather shyly in the door. She would gladly have escaped if she could.
At Rosalind's exclamation, Allan drew his brother forward. "You remember Celia Fair, Patterson?" he said.
"Certainly I do. She was about Rosalind's age when I last saw her."
"I remember you very well, Mr. Whittredge," Celia said, as Patterson took both her hands, and looked into her glowing face.
"I haven't been told anything, but—" he glanced inquiringly at Allan, who nodded, smiling.
Rosalind caught sight of the ring on Celia's finger. "Oh," she said, "was that what the will meant? Are you going to wear it always? I know Aunt Patricia would be glad!" and she hugged Celia joyfully.
That what followed was a childish performance cannot be denied, but alas for those who do not sometimes enjoy putting away grown-up dignity! Rosalind had set her heart on having tea, and the magician was no less pleased at the idea. He lighted up and filled the kettle, and she set the table, while the others looked on and laughed.
"I began being a boy again four months ago, and I like it. How old are you?" Allan asked, passing Celia her cup.
"About six," she answered.
"Then I am ten."
"Then you are too little for me to play with," said Rosalind. "How old are you, father?"
"If Allan is ten I ought to be about sixteen, I suppose."
"Here's to the magician!" cried Allan, and they drank the cabinet-maker's health right merrily.
"I drink to the ring which has come to its own again," said Rosalind's father; and so the fun went on.
Celia forgot her shyness and was a happy little girl once more.
"Let us drink to the Forest and all who have learned its secret," she proposed.
In the midst of it all, Miss Betty walked in.
"Well!" she exclaimed, "I think you might have asked me."
"It isn't too late. This is an impromptu affair in honor of Patterson," said Allan, offering her a chair.
"You have no idea what a noise you are making," she said, greeting the stranger. "I had just come in from a guild meeting, and the unusual illumination and the sounds of hilarity were too much for my curiosity." Here her glance rested in evident surprise upon Celia.
"Celia has something to show you, Cousin Betty," Allan said mercilessly, "and you are not to bother me about it any more."
Miss Betty went around to Celia and kissed her. "It is what I have been hoping all along," she whispered.