“Oh, it’s easy enough at first. You take the bridle path through the Home Plantation, and break out along the common to the foot of the Pixies’ steps. You must shut your eyes when you climb the steps, or the pixies will turn you blind; and always, always you must pluck the gorse that grows at the top, and think of the one that you love best, or you may leave your heart behind you! Then you see the great pine from which a Lyndesay flew the flag that threw his father’s ship on Aill Sands; and after that, a long, feathery line of firs like fairy fingers beckoning from a moss-green velvet sleeve. And on the left, where the wood sinks and the bracken grows to your waist, the well lies in a limestone cup——”
She broke off, meeting the wonder in Christian’s eyes, knowing herself hopelessly betrayed; and Slinker’s wife, too wise to press the situation further, smiled her thanks, and turned a polite ear to the High Sheriff, who, either because of his position or his politics, thought himself justified in addressing her across the parson’s sister and the dumb doctor.
“Suppose we find it together?” he suggested, kindly. “Christian has asked me over to lunch, next week, I believe, and I—I collect wells. I’m sure we could find it together!”
Rishwald was forty and still unmarried, handsome, if pompous, rich and immensely run after, so that the table gasped at his amazing condescension, whilst Petronilla offered up spiritual sacrifice to every fetich she possessed; but Slinker’s wife merely shook her head, smiling.
“It is only safe to visit a wishing-well with one of three people,” she said gently; “yourself, another woman, or—the Right Man.” And in the clear well of wine in her hand she saw Dixon of Dockerneuk’s face.
“So you didn’t really prefer the road!” Christian murmured in Deborah’s ear, and became acquainted a second time with the back of her head.
“Yes, I did!” she returned obstinately. “Shall I tell you what I wished for when I last visited the fairy well? A motor-car!”
“That’s a lie!” Christian said in his gentle voice, and the farthest person from him was the only other that heard him—the High Sheriff’s sister—and she had her own reason. Even sofa-people may have longings eating the heart out of them.
“I’ll prove it to you!” he added quickly. “I’ve had an offer for that wood, just this last week. There’s some especially fine timber, they say, and I could do with the cash to spend on the farms. The wood will be just as fine again in another few hundred years or so. So I’ll write to-morrow, closing with the offer——”
Although he was prepared in a measure, he started before the Deborah that faced round on him with blazing eyes and trembling hands.