"It's exactly like the garden of Eden," said Iris, panting as she spoke. "I don't think anybody," she continued, "could be naughty in this garden."
Apollo kicked his legs in a somewhat impatient manner.
"I feel dreadfully hungry, Iris," he said. "Suppose we go to the house now and have some supper."
"Who is that coming down the walk?" said Iris.
It was dusk by this time, and in the little summer-house all was dark; but Iris, as she spoke, sprang to her feet, and the next moment found herself clasped in Fortune's motherly arms.
"My darling!" said the woman. "Why, it drives me near mad to see you again. And now, what in the world is up with the two of you, and where are the others? There's an elderly gentleman—a clergyman—in the house, and he said I was to look for you here, and that you were going to spend the night. What does it mean, Iris? Oh, my dear! I can't see your face, for it is too dark; but you are very light. Why, you are no weight at all, my honey."
"I expect I'm rather worn out," replied Iris, in her old-fashioned tone. "You know, Fortune, when mother went away she told me to be a mother to the others, and—oh, Fortune, Fortune! I have failed, I have failed."
Iris' little arms were clasped tightly round her old nurse's neck; her face was hidden against her bosom; her heavy sobs came thick and fast.
"Why, my poor dear, you are exactly like a feather," said Fortune; "it aint to be expected that a young thing like you could be a mother. But what's gone wrong, dearie? what's gone wrong?"
"They are lost. That's what has gone wrong," said Iris. "Orion and Diana are lost, Fortune."