Round the world for ever and aye?’”
“Well, it’s not exactly like that, really,” said the Mermaid; “but you’ll see soon enough.”
This had, in Bernard’s ears, a sinister ring.
“Why,” he asked suddenly, “did you say you wanted to see us at dead of night?”
“It’s the usual time, isn’t it?” she asked, looking at him with innocent surprise. “It is in all the stories. You know we have air stories just as you have fairy stories and water stories—and the rescuer almost always comes to the castle gate at dead of night, on a coal-black steed or a dapple-gray, you know, or a red-roan steed of might; but as there were four of you, besides me and my tail, I thought it more considerate to suggest a chariot. Now, we really ought to be going.”
“Which way?” asked Bernard, and everyone held their breath to hear the answer.
“The way I came, of course,” she answered, “down here,” and she pointed to the water that rippled around her.
“Thank you so very, very much,” said Mavis, in a voice which trembled a little; “but I don’t know whether you’ve heard that people who go down into the water like that—people like us—without tails, you know—they get drowned.”
“Not if they’re personally conducted,” said the Mermaid. “Of course we can’t be responsible for trespassers, though even with them I don’t think anything very dreadful has ever happened. Someone once told me a story about Water Babies. Did you ever hear of that?”
“Yes, but that was a made-up story,” said Bernard stolidly.