"Hush! you'll waken the children."
"But they're not here," he reminded her.
"Yes, I know; but you might waken them, just the same."
Instead of answering, the House Surgeon stepped behind the rocker and lifted her out of it bodily; then his hands closed over hers and he lifted them to her eyes, thereby blind-folding them. "Now," he commanded, "take two steps forward."
She did it obediently; and then stood waiting for further orders.
"You are now inside this magical primrose ring; and you said yourself, a moment ago, there was no telling what might happen inside. Keep very still; don't move, don't speak. Remember you mustn't uncover your eyes, or the spell will be broken. Hark! Can you hear something—some one coming nearer and nearer and nearer?"
For the space of a dozen breaths nothing could be heard in Ward C; that is—unless one was tactless enough to mention the sound of two throbbing hearts. One fluttered, frightened and hesitating; the other thumped, steady and determined. Then out of the darkness came the striking of the hospital clock on the tower—twelve long, mournful tolls—and one of the House Surgeon's arms slipped gently about the shoulders of Margaret MacLean.
"Dearest, the Love-Talker has turned so completely human that he has to say at the outset he's not half good enough for you, But he wants you—he wants you, just the same, to carry back with him to his faery-land. It will be rather a funny little old faery-land, made up of work and poverty—and love; but, you see, the last is so big and strong it can shoulder the other two and never know it's carrying a thing. If you'll only come, dearest, you can make it the finest, most magical faeryland a man ever set up home-making in."
Another silence settled over Ward C.
"Well—" said the House Surgeon, breaking it at last and sounding a trifle nervous. "Well—"