"Wait for us outside, Hodson," said Marjorie rather peremptorily.
"I'll go into the post office," she agreed unwillingly. "You won't be long, will you, miss?"
The passage inside the inn was dark, and the stairs were steep, and a smell of stale beer pervaded the air. It seemed a strange place for such a lovely flower as Eric to be growing. Lizzie went first to show the way. She stopped with her hand on the latch of the door.
"His ma's had to go and serve in the bar," she explained, "but his aunt's just come and is sitting with him."
Dona and Marjorie entered a small low bedroom, clean enough, though rather faded and shabby. In a cot bed by the window lay Eric, white as his pillow, a frail ethereal being all dark eyes and shining golden curls. He stretched out two feeble little arms in welcome.
"Oh, my fairy ladies! Have you really come?" he cried eagerly.
It was only when they had both flown to him and kissed him that the girls had time to notice the figure that sat by his bedside—a figure that, with red spots of consternation on its cheeks, rose hastily from its seat.
"Miss Norton!" they gasped, both together.
The mistress recovered herself with an effort.
"Sit down, Dona and Marjorie," she said with apparent calm, placing two chairs for them. "I did not know you were Eric's fairy ladies. It is very kind of you to come and see him."