It was quite true she had been out in worse fogs than this, but whether it was that she was too much occupied with her own thoughts to think of where she was going, or whether the fog, which gradually increased, was worse than she fancied, she suddenly, after wandering about for half-an-hour, awoke to the conclusion that she did not know where she was. If she had come right she ought to have been at the bottom of the hill by now, whereas she was still on flat ground, and had not begun the descent.
She had been so absorbed in wondering what the Shelleys, particularly “gentleman Jack,” as she always called Jack, would say to her news, and in picturing to herself the amazement on learning that Fairy was the daughter of a French nobleman, perhaps a baroness herself or a countess, for Dame Hursey had very vague ideas on the subject of French titles; and in thinking how pleased Fairy would be to hear she was a rich lady, that she forgot all about the fog and where she was going. Loving gossip as she did, the secret George had put in her power was dearer to her than the five sovereigns tied up in the corner of her pocket-handkerchief; it would add to her importance in the neighbourhood more than the gold. Moreover, it might lead to a reward for her, since she had had no part in leaving the child to the care of the shepherd, and Fairy she was sure would not suffer her to be forgotten when the Shelleys came to be rewarded.
“Why, but for me Fairy might never find her parents after all; if I were to keep this secret to myself she would never know for certain she was a lady born, perhaps a countess. I shall make them understand that before I tell them. Or, if anything was to happen to me now before I have told them, why they’d like to never know it. Bless me, where am I? This fog is worse than I thought; I ought to have been home by now, and here I am still on the top. De Thorens, Carolles, Normandy,” and so muttering to herself Dame Hursey disappeared in the fog.
That same afternoon, Fairy, little thinking her name and birth were so soon to be revealed, and her happy life in the shepherd’s cottage exchanged for a very different one in a French château, had gone for a walk with Charlie, and, to Mrs. Shelley’s great anxiety, at half-past five o’clock, when her husband and Jack came in to tea, they were not home. The fog now was so dense that you could hardly see your hand before you, and even with a lantern you could not discern anything a yard or two in advance of you, and Mrs. Shelley was intensely relieved when John and Jack came home safe.
“Thank God you are both back safely; it is an awful fog, isn’t it, John?” asked Mrs. Shelley, as John stood wiping the fog from his beard and face.
“Yes, it is a bad one; luckily both Jack and I saw it was coming on and got the sheep home before dark, or we might have been half the night on the downs.”
“Isn’t it tiresome? Charlie and Fairy went out for a walk soon after dinner, and they are not back now; I have been in such a fright about them,” said Mrs. Shelley.
“What, mother? Fairy out in this fog? Good heavens! the child may be killed! What on earth does that little idiot mean by taking her out in a fog? He deserves a sound thrashing,” burst out Jack.
“Hush, Jack; Charlie may be in danger as well,” said Mrs. Shelley.
“Serve him right too,” muttered Jack, as he went in search of a lantern without another word.