It was thus that two hours later the Master found her, the moonbeams streaming down upon the golden Serpent, and thus directly down upon the golden hair. And kneeling down upon the steps beside her, he raised her head on his knee. And then, taking her in both his arms, the soft white bosom, cold and stiff, pressed to his, and his warm lips upon her frozen ones, he held her so a long time, till he felt the feeble pulse in the new heart, and saw the tiny flutter of her eyelids.
That was all. With a sigh of relief he rose to his feet, still holding her, and carried her away with him, through the private door, to where the chariot and horses he used by night were waiting.
The moon was setting, the streets deserted still, and quite unnoticed they came to Marble House. And then, leaving the horses in the charge of one of his attendants, the Master himself carried her upstairs to that same bedroom that Rosalie once had occupied for a week of tears. And here he left her with a woman as silent and as dignified as Mariana, though not the same.
And all that day till evening Marigold slept, and the long sleep of health--heaven-sent, not Nature’s commoner medicine--was bringing back the roses to her cheeks, as she nestled in among the silken pillows, contented, and unconscious of everything around.
And, whilst she slept, the Master wrote a note to Alice, and sent it off at daybreak.
“Your mistress is here, and will require your services at once.”
And when Alice saw the signature and the address, she threw up her hands in consternation; but, being trained to obedience, returned in the carriage that was sent for her.
This time there was no demur made at the door. She was conducted to Mr Barringcourt’s study almost immediately.
“Where’s my young lady?--where’s my mistress?” she asked him bitterly, suspiciously, before the door had closed.
“Upstairs, in bed. She is recovering from a long illness.”
“I’ll take her home. Sick people are always best at home. Let me go to her.”
“At present she is fast asleep. I sent for you, because you are not strange to her.”
“I’d like to know,” said Alice sturdily, “what she’s doing here. It’s through no wish of her own--of that I am certain. She always called you a heartless quack--a hignorant one, I mean. And--and I haven’t forgotten the last time I came. You used some queer language then, sir--quite unbecoming a gentleman.”
“So did you, Alice. You called me a big brute. I’ve done you the honour of remembering it.”
“And you called us beggar-folk. My mistress! whom, I told you, was better born than you are.”
“I remember that too. But I think we are perhaps about equal. Ellel in Fairy Sky belongs to me. Most of the servants there know me well. I think you are a more recent addition. You came with a very good character, I believe. I remember seeing the testimonials.”
Alice’s eyes were wide open in amazement.
“Then--what--what about the Princess?”
He smiled.
“Nothing. At least, too long a story for repetition. I’m surprised that you should let her act as a beggar girl, and thus cause all the mischief that has followed from it.”
“Nay--I--I--I can’t turn her,” Alice stammered apologetically. “I tried all I could--but what could I do? I followed on behind as well as I could; but lately, since we went back to the old life, I’ve seen very little of her. I--I wondered what all that fine dressing was for last night, when all along she’s been in mourning. And when she said she wouldn’t be back till into the morning, I felt that uneasy I wanted to go after her, only I couldn’t. But I’ve never spied on her, and she knows it. When I’ve followed her, I’ve followed her outright. She didn’t tell me she was coming to you--and I--I thought she was going somewhere else. But she perhaps wouldn’t bother to tell me she was coming here, because, although she called you ignorant, sir, I believe she had great faith in you. And I’ve always spoken ill of you since my last visit here. I--I thought it might help to harden her.”
“Well, now you can come upstairs. I’ll take you. You’ll have nothing to do but watch till evening; but I want you to be there when she awakes. It will be somewhere about six. Then you will see she eats the meal that is prepared for her, and afterwards I should like to see her in this room. If you tell one of the attendants when the Princess is ready, she will conduct her here.”
Then he led her upstairs, and when she saw her mistress sleeping peacefully, with such an utter change from the last months, she burst into tears and took the Master’s hand and wrung it in her own.
“I knew it! I knew it!” she cried, veering round to her first opinion of him. “I knew it from the first, you were a clever man. I swore by you, till you turned on us so suddenly after Timothy died. But then we were all upset then.”
And the Master looked at her with tolerant good-nature; for, when the mask was laid aside, he had sympathy and kindness too.
And so Alice waited alone in the room, and commented to herself upon the curious furniture, and dwelt upon the Master’s conversation, and put two and two together, yet could make very little out of it, except the one thing positive--her mistress’s returning health.
And soon after six, Marigold moved--the first time in all that day; and then she slept a little longer, and then moved again, and finally awoke.
And it was Alice’s broad, good-natured face that first met her eye. And she sat up in bed, laughing and stretching her arms.
“What’s the time?”
“Six o’clock, Princess.”
“How early! I think I’ll get up, though. I feel so ready to.”
Alice smiled.
“It’s six o’clock in the evening, Princess.”
“Never!”
“Indeed yes. You must take this food before rising, though.” And she brought in a tray from the outer room, that had just been left there.
“Thank you. I feel quite hungry. Where--where are we? I know this room quite well. Where--where are we, Alice?”
“We’re in Dr Quack’s house.”
“Never! Oh! I say--it’s enough to take all my appetite away.”
“Indeed no, Princess. It is his prescription that is making you so well.”
Marigold laughed--a charming mixture of fright, wonder, and self-confidence.
“Ah, well!” said she, “I believe he owes me something. I believe somewhere or somehow I’ve done him a good turn, and I certainly do feel well. I feel so intensely happy, Alice--not too happy, but really happy. Now, this is champagne, Alice--the real thing. Just taste--that side of the glass. Isn’t it lovely?”
“Delicious!”
“I’ve eaten every scrap. And I could have eaten more, I’m sure. But just let me think a minute or two. I seem all in a mist.”
And she rested her forehead on her hands, whilst Alice removed the tray and began to prepare for dressing.
“Alice,” she called at last, with none of that restlessness that lately had characterised her speaking, “I’m afraid I shall have to go as soon as I’m dressed. I don’t feel quite equal to meeting him.”
“He said I was to tell you he wished to see you as soon as you found it convenient to-night.”
“I don’t think I care to see him. I--he knows what an inferior kind of woman I am. He knows better than any one. Indeed, he is the only one who does know.”
“If you’re inferior, I don’t know what the other women are.”
“Ah! but I have been terribly silly and wicked too. And it’s no good pretending with him that I haven’t been, because, somehow or other, he has always been there, just when I’ve been doing something or other I shouldn’t do. Oh! and I’ve been so spiteful and jealous too, Alice. I really wonder how I can feel so well, when I’ve been so bad.”
But she got up and dressed, and Alice brushed out the wavy golden hair with much greater pleasure than last night, and arranged the simple white dress with greater pleasure too.
And at last Marigold stood ready, and she looked at herself in the long mirror, and said with laughing excitement:
“You know, Alice, I don’t feel a bit like myself to-night--I don’t really. I shall go to see the--Mr Barringcourt, and--and if he looks superior, as he is nearly sure to do, I shall tell him I was very ill, and I wasn’t responsible. Good-bye.”
And Marigold went with the waiting-woman, and she felt happy and prettily confident, because, after all, as she had thought of it in dressing, she remembered that the Master had not been at all superior last night, that he had looked terribly worn and anxious, and had appealed to her in a way that had surprised her. And not only that, but she had conquered once and for all, after many weary months of struggle, that lower nature, fierce and passionate, which, if it dies at the right time, is the best guarantee of the higher life unhampered.
“He won’t keep me long,” she said, as she went down the staircase, a smile lighting up her eyes. “He will be getting ready to go away to the woman he loves.”
And there was nothing pathetic in her smile or words--but happiness and laughter.
