“Yes, they are,” said Ruby indignantly. “I’ve never had sore eyes in my life, and Bertrand’s have hurt him several times lately.”
“I know; so much the better for him,” was the reply. “Well, good-bye for the present, Ruby. Go on to look for Mavis; you must face it all—there, the rain is coming now. Ah!”
And with this, which sounded like a long sigh, the voice seemed to waft itself away, and down came the rain. The same swirl which had been too much for sturdy Bertrand was upon Ruby now, standing, too, in a far more exposed place, with no shelter near, and the rough rocky path before her. She did not stand long; she turned again and began to descend, stumbling, slipping, blinded by the rain, dashed and knocked about by the wind.
“She might have helped me, whoever she was that spoke to me,” sobbed Ruby. “It isn’t my fault if I can’t see creatures like that. I’m not good enough, I suppose.”
As she said these last words, or thought them, rather, a queer little thrill passed through her, and something, in spite of herself, made her look up. Was it—no, it could not be—she had suddenly thought a gleam of sunshine and blue sky had flashed on her sight; but no, the storm was too furious. “Yet still, I did,” thought Ruby, “I did see something bright and blue, as if two of my little flowers had got up there and were looking down on me.”
She glanced at her hand; the forget-me-nots were gone!
“I must have dropped them,” she said. “Oh dear, dear!”
And yet as she struggled on again she did not feel quite so miserable.
Yet it was terribly hard work, and every moment her anxiety about Mavis increased; Ruby had never felt so much in all her life.
“Who could it be that spoke to me so strangely?” she asked herself over and over again. “And what can I do to be able to see her? I wonder if Mavis has seen her, I wonder—” and suddenly there came into her mind the remembrance of Miss Hortensia’s long-ago story of the vision in the west turret.