CHAPTER V.
“NOW THIS GOOD BLADE SHALL BE MY BRIDE.”
“The bosom in anguish will often be wrung
That trusts to the words of a fair lady’s tongue;
But true are the tones of my own gallant steel—
They never betray, and they never conceal.
I’ll trust thee, my loved sword, wherever we be,
For the clang of my sabre is music to me.”
Quarter-master Anderson.
was not until Sir Digby Auld had quite gone that Gerty came to her senses, and realized the position she had placed herself in. The comical side of the situation struck her at the same time, and for a few moments right merrily did she join the laugh with her old friend, Mr. Richards. But she grew suddenly serious next minute.
“What have I done?” she cried; “and how can I tell father?”
“You droll, provoking little puss!” said Richards. “Come and sit on my knee here, as you always have done since you were a weary wee hop-of-my-thumb.”
“And will you tell me a story?” Gerty was smiling once more. “Then it will just seem like old, old times, you know.”
“Yes, of course. Once upon a time, then—oh, ever so long ago, because no such things as I am going to tell you about could happen in our day—once upon a time there lived, in a lonely house by the side of a deep, dark forest, a lonely man, to whom the fairies had once given a magic feather, plucked from the wing of a fairy goose; and whenever he touched paper with this quill, lo, the paper was turned into gold! So he amassed great wealth; but no one loved him when he went abroad, because, though he had gold, he had no titles and he was sharp of speech. Only he had one beautiful daughter, more fair than a houri of paradise; and she loved her father very much—more even than she loved the roses in June, or the wild birds that sang in the forest, or the stars that shone so brightly on still, clear nights in winter.