DISENCHANTMENT COMPLETE
They looked behind them. A high stone wall rose at their backs, and in it was no sign of a door.
They looked across the street. It was a narrow street, paved with cobble-stones; on the opposite side, where a row of little low shops stretched away on either hand, a few people were going in and out at the doors, and a few others were walking at some distance, before the shop-windows. An ox-cart was coming slowly down the street.
Freddie had sometimes dreamed of being out among people in broad daylight in his night-gown, and he now felt the same terror he had felt in those dreams; he looked anxiously at the shops for a place in which to hide. No one appeared to observe them yet, but they would soon be seen, and it would be dreadful, unless they could find shelter without a moment's delay.
"We had better run into one of those shops," said he, breathlessly, "and ask them to hide us until we can get some clothes."
"Ah, no," said a soft voice beside him, at his right. "It is not a shop that I must go to now. I must hurry home."
Freddie looked around at his right for Aunt Amanda. There was no Aunt Amanda. In her place, holding an empty hour-glass in her right hand, was a lady, the fairest whom Freddie had ever seen. She was young; her eyes were of the blue of summer skies;
her hair was golden yellow; on her soft white cheek was a tinge of pink; two heavy braids of hair hung almost to her knees; her eyes were sparkling with happiness, and a tender and wistful smile curved her lips. As Freddie gazed at her, he thought that there could not be in the world another so radiantly beautiful. She looked about her as one who sees familiar things after a long absence.
Freddie's eyes fell to the hand which was nearest him, her left. On the third finger of her left hand was a ruby ring.
"Are you," he faltered, "are you—Aunt Amanda?"