‘As if I should think of doing such a thing,’ said Charles indignantly.
At five minutes to eight that evening the three C.’s stood in front of the console table with pink verbena behind their ears and red roses over their hearts. Mrs. Wilmington had ‘done’ the vases in the dining-room that very morning, and curiously enough, roses and pink verbena were the flowers she had chosen.
‘It must be a strong magic to have made her do that,’ said Charlotte; ‘secrecy and family reunion.’
The room was not dark, of course, at that time in the evening, but then it was not quite light either.
The three C.’s, Charles occupying a guarded position in the middle, stood quite still and waited.
And presently, quite surely and certainly, with no nonsense about it, they saw in the looking-glass the door open that led to the Uncle’s secret staircase. And through it, in trailing velvet, came a lady—the lady of the picture. Her ruff, her coif, her darkly flashing jewels, her softly flashing eyes,—the children knew them well. Had they not seen them every day for weeks, framed in the old carved frame in the dining-room.
I am sorry to say that Charles at once tried to look round, but his sisters’ arms round his neck restrained him.
The lady glided to a spot from which she could look straight into the mirror and into the children’s eyes.
‘I am here,’ she said, in what Charlotte said afterwards was a starry voice. ‘Do not move or speak. I have come to you because you have believed in the old and beautiful things. You sought for my books and found them; also you have tried to use the magic spells to help the poor and needy, and to reconcile them who are at strife. Therefore you see what you desired to see, and when the flowering time is here, you shall have your heart’s desire. Do not speak or move lest you break the spell. I will sing to you. And when the last note dies away, close your eyes and count very slowly twenty-seven—the number of the years on earth of your kinswoman Eleanour.’