Then she drank the elixir of death and straightway dissolved into a brook which gushed forth out of the pool, and flowed babbling through the forest. But Sorrel sat down by the brookside and lamented. Now it happened that the woodcutter’s wife was passing that way, and she stopped to ask him the cause of his sorrow.
“I am mourning for my mother,” he replied.
“As for me, I have mourned a son these twenty years,” said the woodcutter’s wife.
But Sorrel was not attending to what she said, for his thoughts were full of his own grief. Yet because he was young, he soon called to mind the starry eyes of his newly betrothed, and when he had gone back to her he found her waiting for him by the same spreading tree. Then they made their way to a bubbling spring close at hand, and together they went down into her grotto.
CHAPTER XVI
IN WHICH THE HEROINE HEARS SOME STARTLING NEWS
It was towards the end of September that Philomène returned home. Her godmother was coming up to town also, and they travelled together, so that on that journey there was ginger-beer to drink, and not cold tea. She had not been at home more than an hour or so before she found an opportunity of taking her latchkey and running out into the garden, though the day was wet and windy. Sweet William was at home, and received her cordially.
“I came as soon as ever I could,” she cried, holding out both hands to him, “I only waited till Nurse began unpacking for me next door, because I was afraid she would say I ought not to be out in the rain. And now I must tell you all about the Cushats, and Speedwell and Spirea, and the merman, and they both said it was the chance of a life-time, having him all to myself as I did.” So Philomène told him all her adventures, and Sweet William listened very attentively.
“Is the Cushats haunted?” he asked suddenly.
“Oh, no,” replied Philomène indignantly, “certainly not. Lilian Augusta’s sister-in-law once saw a ghost,” she continued, “and Lilian Augusta said she was as proud as a cat with two tails ever after; but I shouldn’t be proud, only desperately frightened, if I thought a ghost was anywhere near me.”
“That is a pity,” said Sweet William blandly, “considering that there is a little spirit waiting to make friends with you in your very own room.”