This speech, which was as audacious as it was unexpected, caused Miss Lovel to raise her finely marked eyebrows with some scorn.

"Your question is indiscreet," she said; "but, as it happens, I do not mind answering it. Did no true heir appear for Avonsyde during our lifetime the place would be inherited by our nieces, Rachel and Kitty Lovel; but they would only have a life-interest in the property, and would be solemnly bound over to continue our search for the missing heir."

"Rachel and Kitty will, then, be disappointed when Phil is announced as your representative," said Mrs. Lovel, rising with sudden alacrity to her feet. "Thank you so much for your valuable information, Miss Lovel.

You may be quite certain that I shall regard what you have been good enough to confide to me as absolutely confidential."

"I have told you nothing that everybody doesn't know," answered Miss Griselda. "I never reveal secrets, and least of all to those who are not related to us. Talk to any one you please about what I have said to you.

As to my brother's children, I am thankful to say they have not yet attained an age when the absence or the presence of money is of the slightest moment to them. One word more, Mrs. Lovel, before we change our conversation. I have noticed without your telling me that you are extremely poor."

Mrs. Lovel interrupted with a great sigh.

"Oh!" she said, throwing up her hands and speaking with marked emphasis, "I have known the sore pangs of poverty--of course, it has been genteel poverty. I could never forget Phil's birth nor what I owed to my poor dear husband's position, and of course I made a great effort to descend to nothing menial; but, yes, I have been poor."

"You need not excite yourself about the past. When Phil's ident.i.ty is established and his position a.s.sured, it is the intention of my sister and myself to settle upon you for your life an income of 500 a year.

Pray don't thank me; we do it for our own sakes, as of course Phil's mother has a certain position to keep up. We should recommend you to settle somewhere near your boy. What did you say? No, no; that cannot be. When everything is settled we must request you to remove to your own home."

For Mrs. Lovel had interrupted with the almost incoherent words:

"Am I not to live at Avonsyde always?"

CHAPTER XI.--THE LADY WHO CAME WITH A GIFT.

Rachel did not forget her promise to old Nancy. She had never taken so much pains to cultivate Phil's acquaintance as Kitty had done. She had certainly joined in the almost universal chorus that he was a nice and lovable little boy, but she had not greatly troubled her head about his pursuits or his pleasures. She was too much taken up with the wonderful secret which she possessed with regard to the real existence of the lady of the forest. But now that the said lady seemed to wish to see Phil, and now that she, Rachel, had almost bound herself to bring Phil to the trysting-place in the forest, she began to regard him with new interest.

Kitty and Phil had long ere this established a world of their own--a world peopled by caterpillars of enormous size, by the most sagacious spiders that were ever known to exist, by beetles of rare brilliancy, by birds, by squirrels--in short, by the numerous creature-life of the great forest; and last, but not least, by the fairies and gnomes which were supposed to haunt its dells. Kitty could tell many stories of forest adventures, of the wonderful and terrible bogs on which the luckless traveler alighted unawares, and from which, unless instant help arrived, he could never hope to extricate himself. She spoke about the malicious little Jack-o'-lanterns which were supposed to allure the unwary into these destructive places, and Phil, with a most vivid imagination of his own, loved to lie at her feet and embellish her tales with numerous inventions. The two children were scarcely ever apart, and doubtless one reason why Rachel thought so much of her secret was because Kitty was no longer her undivided companion.

Now, however, she must seek out Kitty and Phil, and enter into their pursuits and take a share in their interests if she hoped to induce Phil to accompany her into the forest. Accordingly one day, with a book in her hand, she sauntered out into a very sunny part of the grounds. Phil, basking in the rays of the most brilliant sunshine, had thrown himself at the foot of an old sun-dial; Kitty had climbed into the boughs of a small bare tree which stood near, and as usual the two were chatting eagerly. Rachel, with her head full of the lady of the forest, came up, to hear Kitty and Phil discussing this very personage.

"She's all in green," said Kitty. "Her dress is greener than the trees and her face is most beautiful, and her hair is gold and----"

"No," interrupted Rachel; "she's in gray; and her hair is not gold--it is dark."

Then she colored high and bit her lips with vexation, for she felt that in her eagerness she had given a clew to her dear real lady's ident.i.ty.

Kitty raised her eyebrows in great surprise.

"Why, Rachel," she said, "it was you who told me she was in green. How very queer and disagreeable of you to make her so ugly and uninteresting. People who wear gray are most uninteresting. You forget, Rachel, our lady is in green--greener than the gra.s.s. I do wish you would tell Phil all about her; you can describe her so much better than I can."

"She has a face which is almost too lovely," continued Rachel, taking up the cue on the instant and speaking with great animation. "She lives in the deepest shades of the forest, and she appears never, never, except to those who belong to the forest. Those families who have belonged to the New Forest for hundreds of years have seen her, but outsiders never do. When she does appear she comes with a gift in her hand. Do you know what it is?"

"No," said Phil, raising himself on his elbow and looking with great intentness at Rachel. "I know what I would wish her to give me--that is, if she ever came to see me; but of course I cannot possibly say what gifts she brings."

"Those who have seen her," said Rachel, "catch just a shadow of the reflection of her lovely face, and they never lose it--never! Some ladies of our house saw her, and their portraits are in our portrait-gallery, and they are much more beautiful than any of the other Lovels. She does not give beauty of feature--it is of expression; and such a brightness shines from her. Yes, her gift is the gift of beauty; and I do wish, and so does Kitty, that we could see her."

Phil smiled a little scornfully.

"Is that all she gives?" he said. "That wouldn't be much to me. I mean if I saw her I know what I'd ask. I'd say, 'I am a boy, and beauty isn't of much use to a boy; so please give me instead--money!'"

"Oh, Phil!" exclaimed both the little girls.

"She wouldn't come to you," said Kitty in a mournful tone. "She wouldn't look at any one so avaricious."

"Besides, Phil," continued Rachel, "when Avonsyde is yours you'll be a rich man; and I don't think," she added, "that you are quite right when you say that beauty is of no use to a boy; for if you have the kind of beauty the lady gives, it is like a great power, and you can move people and turn them as you will; and of course you can use it for good, Phil."

"All right," said Phil, "but I'd rather have money; for if I had money I'd give it to mother, and then I needn't be heir of Avonsyde, and--and--oh, I mustn't say! Kitty, I do wish we could go to Southampton again soon. I want to go there on most particular business. Do you think Aunt Grizel will take us before Christmas?"

"Is it about the letter?" asked Kitty. "But you couldn't have had an answer yet, Phil. There is no use in your going to Southampton before an answer can have arrived."

"I suppose not," said Phil in a gloomy voice. "It's a long, long time to wait, though."

"What are you waiting for?" asked Rachel.

Phil raised very mournful eyes to her face.

"You have a look of him," he said. "Oh, how I hate being heir of Avonsyde! I wouldn't be it for all the world but for mother. Kitty, shall we go into the forest and look for beetles?"

"I'll come with you," said Rachel. "You two are always together and I'm out in the cold, and I don't mean to be in the cold any longer. I may come with you both, may I not?"

Kitty smiled radiantly, Phil linked his little brown hand inside Rachel's arm, and the three set off.

No little girl could make herself more fascinating than Rachel when she pleased. She developed on the instant a most astonishing knowledge of beetles and spiders; she drew on her imagination for her facts, and deceived Kitty, but not Phil. Phil was a born little naturalist, and in consequence he only favored his elder cousin with a shrewd and comical look, and did not trouble himself even to negative her daring a.s.sertions. Seeing that she made no way in this direction, Rachel started a theme about which she possessed abundant knowledge. The New Forest had been more or less her nursery; she knew its haunts well; she knew where to look for the earliest primroses, the first violets, and also the very latest autumn flowers; she knew where the holly berries were reddest, where the robins had their nests, and where the squirrels were most abundant; and Phil, recognizing the tone of true knowledge, listened first with respect, then with interest, then with enthusiasm.

Oh, yes, they must go to that dell; they must visit that sunny bank.

Before Rachel and her sister and cousin came home that day they had planned an excursion which surely must give the mysterious lady of the forest that peep at Phil which she so earnestly desired. Rachel was sorry to be obliged to include Kitty in the party, for Kitty had not been asked to pa.s.s in review by old Nancy. Phil was the one whom Nancy and the lady wished to see just once with their own eyes: Phil, who was to be heir of Avonsyde and who didn't like it. Rachel went to bed quite jubilant, for she would have done anything to please the unknown lady who had won her capricious little heart. She did not guess that anything would occur to spoil her plans, and in consequence slept very peacefully.

Phil had been much excited by Rachel's words. He was a very imaginative child, and though he did not believe in ghosts, yet he was certainly impressed by what both the little girls had told him of the lady of the forest. He quite believed in this lady, and did not care to inquire too closely whether she was fairy or mortal. She appeared at rare intervals to the sons and daughters of the house of Lovel, and when she did she came with a gift. Phil did not altogether believe that this lovely, graceful, and gracious lady would be so obdurate as only to bestow an unvalued gift of beauty. He thought that if he were lucky enough to see her he might so intercede with her that she would give him a bag of gold instead. He need keep no secrets from her, for if she was a fairy she must know them already; and he might tell her all about his difficulties, and how his small heart was torn with great love for Rupert and great love for his mother. He might tell the lady of the forest how very little he cared for Avonsyde, except as a possible future home for his gay and brave Cousin Rupert, and he might ask her to give him the bag of precious gold to satisfy his mother and keep her from starving. Phil was dreadfully oppressed with all the secrets he had to keep. Happy as he was at Avonsyde, there were so many, many things he must not talk about. He must never mention Rupert, nor Gabrielle, nor Peggy; he must never breathe the name of Belmont nor say a word about his old nurse Betty. All the delightful times he had spent with his Australian cousins must be as though they had never been. He must not tell about the delicious hours he and Betty had spent together in the little cottage behind the garden when his mother had been away in Melbourne. He must not speak about the excursions that Rupert had taken with him. A veil, a close veil, must be spread over all the past, and the worst of it was that he knew the reason why. His mother wanted him to get what Rupert would have been so much more fitted for. Well! well!

He loved his mother and he could not break her heart, so he kept all these little longings and desires to himself, and only half let out his secrets a dozen times a day. On one point, however, he was firm and stanch as a little Spartan: he never breathed a sigh nor uttered a groan which could be construed into even the semblance of physical pain.

When he felt quite exhausted, so tired that it was an effort to move, he would spring up again at Kitty's least word and, with the drops on his little brow, climb to the top of that straight, tall tree once more and hide his face at last in the friendly sheltering leaves until he got back his panting breath. The splendid air of Avonsyde undoubtedly strengthened him, but the strain of always appearing bright and well was sometimes almost too much, and he wondered how long he could go on pretending to be quite the strongest little boy in the world. He fancied now how nice it would be to tell the kind lady of the forest how weak he really was; how his heart often beat almost to suffocation; what cruel pain came suddenly to stab and torture him. Oh! he could show her plainly that money was the gift for him, and that Rupert, who was so valiant, so strong, so splendid, was the only right heir to the old place.

Phil greatly enjoyed his tower bedroom. Not a particle of the nervousness which made his mother uneasy a.s.sailed him. The only thing he did regret was that he could not sleep quite at the very top of the tower, in those attic rooms inhabited by Miss Griselda and Miss Katharine. When some of those bad attacks of pain and breathlessness a.s.sailed him, he liked, notwithstanding the exertion, to creep up and up those winding stone stairs, for he knew that when he got to the top and had attained his refuge he could really rest; he might throw off all the Spartan and be a little human boy who could moan and sigh and even shed a few secret tears for the gallant Rupert whom he loved. Phil had got into a habit of not even telling his mother of those queer attacks of weakness and breathlessness which came over him. Nothing annoyed and distressed her so much as to hear of them, and little Phil was by degrees beginning to feel a sort of protective love toward the rather weak woman: their positions were being unconsciously reversed. Mrs.

Lovel seldom came to the tower bedroom in the day-time. Under the pretext that the stairs wearied her, she had begged to be allowed to have a dressing-room in a more modern part of the house, so Phil could be quite alone and undisturbed when he chose to visit his room. One of Miss Griselda's excellent rules for children was that they must retire early to bed. Phil, in Australia, had sat up far later than was good for him, but now at Avonsyde he and Kitty were always expected to have entered the land of dreams not later than eight o'clock in the evening.

Mrs. Lovel seldom came upstairs before midnight, and in consequence Phil spent several hours alone every night in his quaint bedroom. He was often not at all sleepy, and on these occasions he would open one of the tiny deep-set windows, and look out into the night and listen to the hootings of some owls which had long ago made a home for themselves in a portion of the old tower. On other occasions he would amuse himself with one of Kitty's story-books, or again he would arrange some very precious little collections of wild birds' eggs and other forest treasures.

On this particular night, after Rachel's and Kitty's conversation, he was more than usually wakeful. He got into bed, for Aunt Griselda told him to be sure to undress and go to sleep as quickly as possible; but finding sleep very far away from his wakeful eyes he got up, and, after the fashion of a restless little boy, began to perambulate the room and to try to discover anything of interest to divert his attention. A very old horse-hair trunk of his mother's stood in one corner of the room; it had never been unpacked, for it was only supposed to contain books and some household treasures not immediately required by Mrs. Lovel. Phil had once or twice coaxed his mother to unpack the old trunk, for among the books was his pet "Robinson Crusoe." There was also an old box of paints which Rupert had given him, and a queer, old-fashioned cup, made of horn, which Rupert and he always took with them when they went for a day's excursion into any of the neighboring forests. Phil saw now, to his great delight, that the key was in the lock of the old trunk, and it occurred to him that he could pa.s.s an agreeable hour rummaging among its contents for his beloved "Robinson Crusoe" and his old horn cup. He accordingly set a candlestick on the floor, and opening the trunk knelt down by it and began to forage. He worked hard, and the exertion tired him and brought on an attack of breathlessness; but he was much interested in the sight of many old home treasures and had no idea how time was flying. He could not find either his "Robinson Crusoe" or his horn cup, but he came across another treasure wrapped up in an old piece of flannel which gave him intense delight. This was no other than a silver tankard of quaint device and very Old-World pattern, with a coat of arms and the words "Tyde what may" inscribed on one side. Phil knew the tankard well, and raising it to his lips he kissed it tenderly.

"Why, this belongs to Uncle Rupert and to Belmont!" he exclaimed. "The very same dear old tankard which Gabrielle is so proud of. I've seen it dozens of times. Well, I never thought Uncle Rupert would have given this dear old tankard to mother. How kind of him! I wonder mother never spoke of it. Oh, dear, what stories Gabrielle has told me about it! She used to call it a magical tankard and said it had a history. Mother must have quite forgotten she had it in the old trunk. How delighted Rachel and Kitty will be when I show it to them to-morrow."

Phil was so excited over his discovery that he became instantly careless as to finding either his "Robinson Crusoe" or his horn cup, and pushing the rest of contents of the trunk back into their place and turning the lock, he crept into bed, carrying the beloved tankard with him. When his mother came upstairs presently she found the boy fast asleep, and little guessed what treasure he clasped in his arms.

It is true that little Phil had entered the land of dreams; it is also true that in that enchanted land he went through experiences so delightful, through adventures so thrilling, that when in the dull gray November morning he awoke to listen to his mother's monotonous breathing, he simply could do nothing but step out of bed and determine to follow his dreams if necessary to the end of the world. The light had scarcely come. He would dress himself hastily and, taking the enchanted tankard with him, go into the forest all alone, in the hopes of meeting the beautiful lady who came with a gift.

CHAPTER XII.--LOST IN THE NEW FOREST.