He looked forward with the greatest horror to dinner time—a feeling which had hitherto been as strange to him as to any other schoolboy. So it was now, however, for he knew he should have a terrible ordeal to go through. His father, having returned from another unsuccessful ride, would not only feel angry, but hurt, if his son made no inquiries as to whether any news had been heard of his sister. If again, he saw him for the second night remaining silent and refusing everything to eat and drink save bread and water, his patience would most likely be exhausted, and he might act in a manner the consequences of which might be unpleasant.
Suppose his anger should take the form of sending Philip to his own room immediately after dinner, and thus preventing his being in the forest at the time appointed by the fairy queen!
This was a thought which gave the boy so much uneasiness, that he at last made up his mind that, as the risk was too serious to run, he had better shirk dinner altogether. So when the dressing-bell rang at half-past seven (for his parents always dined at eight), instead of going in to dress, Philip slipped quietly out of the shrubberies, with Pincher by his side, and made the best of his way to the forest. The moon would not rise that night till past nine, and of course he would be missed before that; but he thought they would very likely not send for him, or if they did, no one would be likely to find him.
He marched into the forest full of hope, feeling sure that he had obeyed the fairy's directions in every particular, and that unless she had grossly deceived him, he should soon see his dear sister once more.
On he went, as he thought, exactly in the same direction in which he had gone the day before. The air was mild and pleasant—a gentle breeze rustled in the leaves overhead—the birds had hushed their singing, and Nature seemed to be about taking her rest preparatory to a new day of life and action.
The turf was soft and springy under the boy's feet, the trees cast around him their strange and fantastic shadows, the distant bells fell faintly on his ears, and more faintly still as he went further into the forest, and all seemed so peaceful and rest-bringing that he thought it was no wonder that hermits and such like worthy people should generally choose some woodland recess in which to dwell when they have had enough of the outside world, and want to find rest and peace and happiness in the oblivion of worldly strife which such a solitude would engender.
But when Philip, thinking these thoughts and a great many others, no doubt, besides, had walked some distance, it struck him that he must somehow or other have missed his way, for he seemed to be in quite a different part of the forest from that in which he had met with his yesterday's adventure. It was getting darker and darker, as far as he could see, and he began to be afraid that he might after all miss the place and never find his sister again.
Under these circumstances he did not think it of much use to go wandering on and on, uncertain whether he was going right or wrong, and therefore sat down upon the gigantic roots of a large oak, and there took time to consider what he had better do next. It must now have been getting on for nine o'clock, and presently a soft, tender light began to steal down through the overhanging branches, and illuminate the forest with a silvery tinge. The moon was evidently beginning to assert her dominion over the night, and to tell the darkness that it could not possibly be allowed to have it all its own way.
This, then, was the hour of which the Fairy Queen had spoken, when she told him to come at the rising of the moon and make his second request.
Yes! beyond all doubt this was the hour; but where the Fairy glade was, was quite a different question.