Still, when they were sitting of an evening by themselves, with no fear of offending the old man by their talk, it was only natural that they should discuss the mystery. There was a peculiar rule about their Sunday visit. They were obliged to be exceedingly punctual, by which I mean, neither too early nor too late. Half an hour after noon was the appointed time, so they arranged to meet at church, and when the service was over to wait in the porch till the ancient clock struck twelve, as they found that by then starting at once for Peter's cottage and walking rather quickly they reached it just a minute or two before the dinner hour.
Often, when waiting thus at the church door, they would receive a smile and a nod from the girl they all adored—pretty Ysenda—and now and then she would even stop a moment and say to whichever of the three happened to be nearest at hand, "My love to Uncle Peter, and a pleasant visit to him." Not that he was her uncle or any relation, but she had got into the habit of going to see him sometimes out of pity for his loneliness, and the old man had taken a great fancy to her. In fact she was the only visitor he ever received, with of course the exception of the nephews on Sunday.
Once—some time ago it was, when the custom had first begun—Michael had by accident arrived at Peter's cottage some minutes before the others. He was on the point of knocking at the door when something stopped him. He afterwards declared that he did not know what. But standing there, he heard sounds within—curious sounds—his uncle's voice, slow and solemn as if reciting something, then a very delicate tinkle as of a tiny bell, and lastly a whirring sound as of wheels moving quickly, and then complete silence. And while he was debating as to whether he should knock or not, to his relief he heard his cousins' footsteps approaching. He turned back a little way to meet them, but before he had time to tell them what he had heard, the door opened and their host stood there bidding them welcome.
Ever after that they all three came together as I have told you, and waited at a little distance till their uncle made his appearance. For Michael confided to his cousins that there had been something uncanny about the mysterious sounds. Furthermore he felt instinctively that he had not been meant to overhear them, and that if Peter knew of it he might have been angry, and possibly would never have invited them again.
Hence, Michael, of the three, was the most careful as to what he said to the old man, and never did he venture to show any curiosity on the subject of the whence or how of the mysterious feast.
But now and then he had a queer feeling that pretty Ysenda knew—what?—he could not define it, more clearly than by suspecting that she was in old Peter's confidence in a way that he and his friends were not.
And one evening—it was a Saturday—when the three were sitting together in his cottage, he expressed something of the kind to Hodge and Giles. They were very much surprised.
"She is a good, true-hearted maiden," he added. "I don't for a moment mean that she has any selfish motives for her attentions to our godfather."
"That's to say you don't suspect her of trying to supplant us in his favour, as to inheriting whatever he has to leave?" said Hodge. There was some suspicion in his tone, much as he admired Ysenda.
"One never knows," added Giles. "She may have no thought of the kind—why should she? She is rich already—all the same, Uncle Peter may make her his heir, without her being to blame."