"Father dear, I'm running away," she said, with eyes dancing like those of a child. "And you are going to run away with me."
"But why, my dear? Why leave the beauties of the country?—why run away at all? Please explain," he pleaded.
"Sit down here, father, while I go on with my packing," she commanded—"and I'll tell you all about it. It's so wonderful that you'll scarcely believe it at first; so strange that it would be hard for anyone to believe it. Please don't interrupt me—because I shall have things to pack for you presently, before we run away together."
"I am of a singularly patient nature," said Daniel Meggison, seating himself and folding his hands. "Pray proceed, Bessie."
She proceeded then glibly enough to tell him of all that had happened; of how the Prince of that fairy tale that had come true so strangely had come down there, and had told her that he loved her. There was much that she could not tell her father, beyond the bald fact; but he would understand, and he would know that when the Prince commanded, his willing slave must follow.
"He wanted me to run away with him out into the world—to sail far over the sea with him in this yacht that has been lent to him by a friend," said Bessie, on her knees beside one of the new trunks, busily folding garments. "But of course that wouldn't do at all—because, although I know Gilbert perfectly, and know how good he is, ladies mustn't travel about with gentlemen in that promiscuous way. More than all, it is necessary of course that a certain poor old father, quite incapable of looking after himself, should not be left behind; therefore that father comes in, as usual, very happily." She jumped up at that point, specially to kiss the old reprobate, who was thinking long thoughts.
"Wise little Bessie!" he said, patting her head. "I might have known that you would make no mistake over a matter of that kind. And so friend Byfield wants to take away his bride that is to be, and give her a little holiday on the sea—eh? Well—that seems a very excellent idea, and I promise you that you shall not find your poor old father in the way. But a word of warning, my Bessie!" He turned in his chair, and faced his daughter solemnly.
"Yes, father dear?"
"Not a word to anyone else—not a syllable!" he whispered. "Let us slip away together, leaving the other people in comfort here; we can write to them from some foreign port. Because, you see, we don't want to annoy our friend Byfield; and he might not have accommodation for everybody on this wonderful yacht. Your brother and the others will be very comfortable here; but as we do not wish to make them envious, we will say nothing about our new plans."
"But when they find we're gone, they'll naturally be worried to know what has become of us," urged Bessie.