"He asked me to tell you that he remembered you always."
The voice grew husky, and the lady drew a little closer, perhaps to hear more plainly what was said.
"And to say that he carried his—his love for you with him down into the grave."
With a great effort Jack finished the message. The words had brought back a flood of vivid recollections of that dreadful night, and his eyes were filled with blinding tears. He turned to brush them away, and as he did so he felt Queen Mab's arms meet round his neck.
"You dear old boy! don't you think I know you? Don't you think I knew you as soon as you came inside the gate?"
He made some attempt to reply, uttered a broken word or two, and then turned away his head; but she, standing on tiptoe, drew it down lower and lower, until at length it rested on her shoulder.
And so the ugly duckling ended his wanderings.
No autumn frosts or winter snows could ever have fallen on that garden, for here were the same flowers, and fruit, and ferns as had bloomed and ripened that last August holiday seven years ago. So, at least, thought Jack, as he and his aunt walked together along the paths.
"Did he write from Egypt to tell you about me?"