Pauline looked. The lights were so managed that she could see everything distinctly. The lights fell full upon her. She saw a pair of dark eyes, sweet, anxious, and beautiful; she saw a radiant and rosy face. Lilies of the valley, sweet-peas, and summer roses fell about her soft dark hair. Similar flowers fell about her neck. Her dress was hidden beneath its wealth of flowers; her charming face rose out of a perfect foam of flowers.
“Oh, I do look beautiful!” she said aloud, and at the naive remark the whole party shouted with merriment. Nancy cried, “Long life to the queen!” and Joe the Fiddler burst into his merriest strains; it was with the greatest difficulty that the desire for dancing could be suppressed, for the little ceremony was not yet quite over. It was Nancy’s turn to come forward.
“Queen of the night,” she said, “we hope that you will like what we, your subjects, have done for you, and we hope that you will never forget your happy birthday. There is just one thing I have to say. When the flowers fade—and they are fading already—you, dear queen, will have no longer a kingdom, so we have brought you something; we have subscribed among us for something that will not fade—something that you can always wear in memory of us. Look! isn’t it beautiful?”
As Nancy spoke, she took a morocco case from the table, touched a spring, and revealed to Pauline’s dazzled eyes, a necklace of thin pure gold, to which a little locket, with a diamond in the centre, was attached.
“This won’t fade,” said Nancy. “You can keep it all your life long. You can also remember that there are people in the world, perhaps born a little lower than yourself, who love you and care for you.”
“Oh, you are good!” cried Pauline. “I will never forsake you, Nancy, or think myself better than you are.”
“Didn’t I say she was a brick?” said Nancy. “Stoop your head, queen; I will clasp the necklace around your neck.”
Pauline did stoop her head, and the necklace was put in its place. The little diamond in the centre glittered as though it had a heart of fire. The flowers smelled sweet, but also heavy. Pauline was tired once again; but the music was resumed. Fiddler Joe played more enchanting music than before, and Pauline, suddenly rising from her throne, determined to dance during the remaining hours of that exciting night.
But all happy things, and all naughty things come to an end, for such is the fashion of earth; and by-and-by the farmer said that if they wished to be home before morning they must get into the wagonette and the dogcart, and their guests must take themselves away. Now it was the farmer’s turn to come up to Pauline.
“You have given us all pleasure to-night, Miss Pauline,” he said; “and it warms our hearts to feel that, whatever the circumstances, you will always be true to us, who have been true to you and yours for generations. For, miss, the history of the Dales is almost bound up with the history of the Kings. And if the Dales were gentlefolks and lords of the manor, the Kings were their humble retainers. So, miss, the Dales and Kings were always good to each other; the Kings over and over again laying down their lives for the Dales in the Civil Wars, and the Dales on their part protecting the Kings. So, after all, miss, there’s no earthly reason, because a grand aunt of yours has come to live at The Dales, why the traditions of your house should be neglected and forgotten. I am proud to feel that this will never happen, and that your family and mine will be one. We do not consider ourselves your equals, but we do consider ourselves your friends. And if I can ever help you, Miss Pauline, you have only to come to me and I will do it. That’s all I’ve got to say. I don’t want thanks. I’m proud that you and your little sisters have trusted yourselves to us to-night, and I leave the matter of whether it was right or wrong to your own consciences. But whatever happens, what you did to-night is the sort of thing that Farmer King will never forget.”