“Agreed,” said Robin. “Isn’t it strange though,” he added, as they turned to retrace their steps, “that there are no buildings of any kind—only a little garden.”
“It is somewhat puzzling, I confess, but we shall—”
He stopped abruptly, and stood rooted to the ground, for there, on a rock in front of him, with her light, graceful figure, and flowing golden hair, pictured against the blue sky, stood a little girl, apparently about six or seven years of age—an angel as it seemed to the amazed youths!
She had caught sight of the strangers at the very moment they had observed her, and stood gazing at them with a half eager, half terrified look in her large lustrous eyes.
With a sudden and irresistible impulse Robin extended his arms towards her. She made a little run towards him, then stopped, and the look of fear again came over her beautiful face. Robin was afraid to advance lest he should frighten her. So, with an earnest look and smile, he said, “Come here, little one.”
She answered the invitation by bounding towards our hero and clasping him round the neck, causing him to sit down rather abruptly on a rock which lay conveniently behind.
“Oh! I’m so glad you’ve come at last!” said the child, in English so good that there could be no question as to her nationality. “I was quite sure mamma would send to fetch me away from this tiresome place, but you’ve been so long of coming—so very very long.”
The thought of this, and perhaps the joy of being “sent for” at last, caused her to sob and bury her face in Robin’s sympathetic bosom.
“Cheer up, little one, and don’t cry,” said Robin, passing his hand over her sunny hair, “your Father, at all events, has sent for you, if not your mother.”
“I have no father,” said the child, looking up quickly.