“Really,” I said, “we must go after him. This is too bad of him, too—I can’t forgive myself. Let us go after him, Pelleas.”
I took the little hot-water pot for an excuse and we went across the hall.
“Heigh ho! sing, heigh ho! unto the green holly:
High love is high wisdom, to love not is folly:
Then, heigh ho! the holly!
This life is most jolly.”
Pelleas hummed the whole way.
The library door was ajar and we entered together. Do you think that we did not feel the bewilderment of gods and men when we saw, in the firelight, Hobart Eddy with Eunice Wells in his arms?
I hugged my little hot-water pot and could find no words as they turned and saw us. But ah, Hobart Eddy’s face! I say to every one that it was transfigured, like the face of one who has found the secret of the days. And as for dear Eunice—but then, had not I, who am a most discerning old woman, already comprehended that Eunice had looked like a bride from the beginning?
“Aunt Etarre!” cried Hobart Eddy like a boy, “I’ve found her again. I’ve found her!”