“I'm not in the way to know much, sir”—preferring to be civil at any cost than to lose the probable extra shilling “the young un is an Eton boy, and the older one studies up to Hoxford. The old un's a tough un, they say, but he seems a decent enough sort of fellow.”
“Does the young one live alone here at Windsor?”
“Don't know about that, sir; but I've 'eard they 'ave some company from the States this summer. That's the house yonder, with the pretty terrace and the tower. They calls it the Little Castle.”
Mr. Belden looked in the direction indicated, and—could he believe his eyes!—was there not a familiar little figure coming leisurely down the path from the Little Castle, which when it reached the gate in the hedgerow turned in the same direction as they were driving?
“Whip up,” ordered Mr. Belden impatiently, for he wanted to be a little more sure in the matter. Yes, it was certainly Marie-Celeste. There was no mistaking the free, quick step nor the alert bearing.
“Stop!” commanded Mr. Belden, and the carriage came to a standstill with paralyzing abruptness “Now, turn your wheel and let me out. There's your money.”
Instantly perceiving that he had been generously compensated, the man smiled an appreciative “Thank you,” and then watched Mr. Belden stride up the street, with the conclusion that he was “a little off;” but the more “off” the better, he thought, if it meant three half-crowns for a drive of a quarter of an hour.
Marie-Celeste walked briskly on up the hill, and Mr. Belden would have given three half-crowns more with a will to any one who could have told him where she was going. He would prefer to come across her more by accident apparently than by running to catch up with her, and when so near, too, to the Little Castle as to suggest that he had probably come to Windsor purposely to see her. If she should happen to turn in at some house, he decided he would try to intercept her before she rang the bell, so that they might have at least a few moments' chat, but otherwise he would bide his time a little while and see what came of it. She had a sort of portfolio under her arm; it was not unlikely she was going to some lesson or other, and if so, alas! where would the chat come in? But, as you and I happen to know, nothing was farther from Marie-Celeste's thought that happy summer, withal she was learning so much, than any idea of lessons, and on she went till she vanished from sight through one of the castle gates. Then Mr. Belden quickened his steps, and arrived at the inner side of the same gate just in time to see her disappear within St. George's Chapel.
“Which way did that little girl go?” he asked of the sexton, who was vigorously burnishing a brass memorial tablet just within the doorway of the chapel.
“Do you mean Marie-Celeste, sir?”