"Hold your tongue, Leer!" cried Master Ambrose angrily. "Chanticleer is a very old friend of mine, and, what's more, he's my second cousin. There's nothing wrong about Nathaniel."
But was this true? A few hours ago he would have laughed to scorn any suggestion to the contrary. But since then, his own daughter ... ugh!
Yes, Nathaniel had certainly always been a very queer fellow—touchy, irascible, whimsical.
A swarm of little memories, not noticed at the time, buzzed in Master Ambrose's head ... irrational actions, equivocal remarks. And, in particular, one evening, years and years ago, when they had been boys ... Nat's face at the eerie sound produced by an old lute. The look in his eyes had been like that in Moonlove's today.
No, no. It would never do to start suspecting everyone—above all his oldest friend.
So he let the subject of Master Nathaniel drop and questioned Endymion Leer as to the effects on the system of fairy fruit, and whether there was really no hope of finding an antidote.
Then Endymion Leer started applying his famous balm—a balm that varied with each patient that required it.
In most cases, certainly, there was no cure. But when the eater was a Honeysuckle, and hence, born with a healthy mind in a healthy body there was every reason to hope that no poison could be powerful enough to undermine such a constitution.
"Yes, but suppose she is already across the border?" said Master Ambrose. Endymion Leer gave a little shrug.
"In that case, of course, there is nothing more one can do," he replied.