Thus were these unfortunate young people, by the indulgence of their own wishes, and the attainment of what they supposed could produce only gratification and happiness, reduced to a state of apparently irremediable distress. Even Claribel shared in the general misery. Not that the gift of the fairy had lost its influence upon her; the lily was fresh as ever. She was contented in her own person, and formed no wishes for herself; but she could not behold the wretched condition of her friends unmoved. Though not subject to strong emotions, her heart was tender and affectionate. Her cousins were her sole objects of attachment, and it was still unabated towards them. Ursula could do nothing but bewail their sad destiny; she was weak and helpless. Gabriel was the only rational person of the party. He collected together the little that remained out of the wreck of the possessions, and tried to put things in some order to make them more comfortable. The generous old man never reminded them of the advice he had given, or took to himself the credit that was his due for his better judgment.
Claribel had used all the arguments she could devise to reconcile Amaranthé to her altered state, but with little success. One remarkably fine day she prevailed upon her to go out into the air: they walked to a part of the grounds that had in their childhood been appropriated as their play place. Here, while resting on a bench, they were joined by Adrian. The brother and sister now found words to relieve the weight of woe that oppressed them, but it was by heaping invectives on the deceitful Felicia. From accusing the fairy they began to upbraid each other. “You, Amaranthé,” said Adrian, “have no right to complain: you might at least have been spared the misfortune of poverty. Had it not been for your abominable vanity and coquetry, you might have been happily and nobly settled.”
“You are unjust to say so, Adrian,” retorted his sister; “you know very well it was your refusing to bestow a fortune upon me, that prevented many of my lovers from soliciting my hand in marriage; but you were given up to selfishness, and cared not what became of me.”
“For pity’s sake, my dear cousins,” cried Claribel, “do not quarrel. Remember, destitute orphans as we are, we have nothing left in this world but each other, and if we are not united, what is to become of us?”
Adrian was touched; looking tenderly on his sister, “Claribel is right,” said he. “We are, indeed, bereaved of every thing else, and shall we forsake each other? Ah, Amaranthé!” he continued, his eyes swimming in tears, “time was when all our joys and all our wishes centred in each other. How fondly you once loved me—and is it at an end? Will you love me no more?” The native good feelings of Amaranthé’s heart, that had so long lain dormant, were now revived. Bursting into an agony of crying, she threw her arms round her brother’s neck, and sobbed out, “Yes, yes, dear Adrian; I love you better than ever. Oh, do but be kind to me, and I will cease to deplore the loss of my beauty.” After embracing her affectionately, Adrian, looking mournfully round, observed—“This was the scene of our childish sports. How joyously we bounded like fawns over this lawn! When turning our hoops or tossing our balls, how little cared I for riches or you for beauty! And there,” pointing with his hand, “is the shrubbery where we used to play at hide and seek, and laugh at poor Claribel for not being able to find us. See the woodbine that you and she used to twine round my hat and crook, when I played at being a shepherd.”
“And those,” said Amaranthé, “are the trees you so often climbed to get birds’ eggs for Claribel and me to string, when we pretended to be hermits, and called them our rosaries!”
“Happy, happy days of blessed innocence!” groaned out her brother; “would to heaven ye could be recalled! Never again would I barter ye for grandeur and licentiousness!”
While the unhappy trio continued weeping over these painful recollections, they suddenly observed an extraordinary appearance in the air. A large machine, resembling a car, was hovering in it, and at length descending slowly to the earth fixed itself at no great distance from them. They then saw a lady clad in a purple robe, with a long white wand in her hand, step out of it and advance towards them. They were immediately struck with the belief that it was the fairy, but with what different sensations did the brother and sister now greet her, to those which her first appearance had occasioned! Confused and dismayed, they would have fled from her presence had not terror rendered them motionless, for they doubted not that she was come to reproach them, if not to punish their ill conduct. When she drew nearer, and they ventured to look at her again, they discovered that the figure was taller and more dignified than that of Felicia. Her face was not so fair, and its expression was more solemn, but her countenance was more commanding, and her aspect altogether inspired awe and veneration. “Perhaps,” whispered Claribel, “it is the fairy Benigna.” The minds of her cousins assented to this suggestion, but it by no means diminished their apprehensions. If they had so much cause to dread the censure of Felicia, what had they to hope from the severe Benigna?
Trembling, and not daring to speak or move, they stood before her, while she regarded them for some time in silence, with looks that lost much of their solemnity, and expressed pity and benevolence. Then, in a mild tone, said, “Poor hapless victims of ignorance and error, your consciences tell you that I am come to inflict the chastisement due to your folly and guilt; but lay aside your fears. I can allow for and compassionate the offences of feeble mortality. I am come to take you from this scene of desolation and disgrace, which can only remind you of lost happiness. Are you willing to trust yourselves with me?” Whatever the private inclinations of the party might be, they were too much in awe of this powerful being to offer any resistance to her will: they only bowed in token of submission. She then placed them all in the car, and mounting it herself after them, waved her wand when the machine arose with a gentle motion into the air, which it wafted them through, but at what rate, or whither to, they could not judge. They were so amazed, and their senses so bewildered, that they almost doubted if they were awake, or whether all that had passed were not a dream!
They could not calculate how long they had been travelling in this easy manner, when they found the vehicle again descending to the earth, where it rested before a white house, that had every appearance of neatness and comfort, though not of magnificence.