“After all, it is nothing so very bad,” she said. “It is only, dear, that your visit must come to an end a few days sooner than I had hoped.”
“I believe the Cooies knew it,” thought Mary to herself.
“My old friend,” continued her godmother, “whom I have been to see several times lately, is failing fast. She is feeling lonely too, and has begged me to go to stay with her for some weeks as soon as possible. I have promised to do so the day after to-morrow, so to-morrow, dear, Pleasance will take you home. I have a letter from your aunt, saying they will be very happy to have you back, but—this is the first of the pleasant things, she promises that I shall have you again in the spring. And you will be glad to hear that it is really quite settled that Michael will be home for Christmas.”
“Oh, I am glad!” exclaimed Mary.
“And another nice thing is that Blanche and Milly are going to be your neighbours in the Square.” Mary’s face brightened still more.
“Blanche and her husband have taken a house there, and Milly will live with them, and be a nice companion for you. They hope to see you very often. Thirdly, I have a rather curious nice thing to tell you and to show you,” and Mary somehow felt sure it had to do with the little parcel.
“Last night,” continued her godmother, “thinking of your leaving, I opened the drawer in my old cabinet where I keep the feather mantle, and where I will again lay it away till I lend it to you some other time. I meant to tell Pleasance to put fresh paper and lavender in the drawer, if they were needed, and as I was looking in, I noticed a little piece of crumpled paper, as I thought, in one corner. I picked it up, and fortunately began to smooth it out, before throwing it away. And—look, dear, what was in it.”
She held out the paper packet, which she had unfolded, and there lay a little coil of gold, so fine and thin, it was like a thread of sparkling silk. It was a very delicately made, but strong, nevertheless, gold chain for the neck, clasped by one pure white pearl, which, as soon as Mary saw it, made her think of Queen White Dove.
“Oh!” she murmured breathlessly, “how lovely!”
“Yes,” said her godmother, “and it is for you, dear. How it came there, I cannot exactly say, but I feel sure it must have dropped out of the pocket of the feather mantle, where it may have lain for nearly half a century. I was never allowed to wear the mantle except a very few times, on great occasions, and it got too small for me before long. And,” here Miss Verity’s face and voice grew rather dreamy, “I have a faint, very faint remembrance of something my mother said about a chain lost on its way here from the place where the mantle came from. This chain is certainly of foreign make; it might really be a fairy one, so strong, though so fine.”