“I have heard of little Philip Lovel,” she said. “I am glad to see you. I am glad I saved you from a terrible fate. If no one had come to your rescue you must eventually have sunk in that dreadful bog.”
“But I was quite sure you would come,” answered Phil. “Do you know, I went out this morning expecting to meet you. Betty and I have spoken of you so very, very often. We have made up lovely stories about you; but you have always been in green and your face dazzled. Now you are not in green. You are in a dark, plain dress—as plain a dress as mother used to wear when we lived in the house behind the garden; and though you are beautiful—yes, I really think you are beautiful—you don’t dazzle. Well, I am glad I have met you. Did you know that a little boy was wandering all over the forest looking for you to-day? And did you come out on purpose to meet him and to save him? Oh, I trust, I do trust you have got the gift with you!”
“I don’t quite understand you, my dear little boy,” said the lady. “No, I did not come to meet you. I simply took a walk between the showers. You are talking too much and too fast; you must be quiet now, and I will put this warm rug over you and you can try to sleep. When you are quite rested and warm, Nancy, my servant, will take you back to Avonsyde.”
Phil was really feeling very tired; his limbs ached; his throat was dry and parched; he was only too glad to lie still on that soft sofa in that tiny room and not pretend to be anything but a sadly exhausted little boy. He even closed his eyes at the lady’s bidding, but he soon opened them again, for he liked to watch her as she sat by the fire. No, she was scarcely dazzling, but Phil could quite believe that she might be considered beautiful. Her eyes were dark and gray; her hair was also dark, very soft, and very abundant; her mouth had an expression about it which Phil seemed partly to know, which puzzled him, for he felt so sure that he had seen just such resolute and well cut lips in some one else.
“It’s Rachel!” he said suddenly under his breath. “How very, very queer that Rachel should have a look of the lady of the forest!”
He half-roused himself to watch the face, which began more and more to remind him of Rachel’s.
But as he looked there came a curious change over the lady’s expressive face. The firm lips trembled; a look of agonized yearning and longing filled the pathetic gray eyes, and a few words said aloud with unspeakable sadness reached the little boy.
“So Kitty speaks of me—little, little Kitty speaks of me.”
The lady covered her face with her hands, and Phil, listening very attentively, thought he heard her sob.
After this he really closed his eyes and went to sleep. When he awoke the winter’s light had disappeared, the curtains were drawn across the little window, and a reading-lamp with a rose-colored shade made the center of the table look pretty. There was a cozy meal spread for two on the board, and when Phil opened his eyes and came back to the world of reality, the lady was bending over the fire and making some crisp toast.