something to repeat aloud. This part of the forest was so remote and solitary for it was miles away from any gentleman’s seat, that Rachel for a moment was startled.
“Who can she be?” was her first exclamation; her second was a delighted —
“Oh, perhaps she is the lady of the forest!”
Then she exclaimed with vexation:
“No, no, she cannot be. The lady always wears green and is almost transparent, and her face is so lovely. This lady is in dark clothes and she is reading and murmuring words to herself. She looks exactly as if she were learning a stupid lesson to say aloud. Oh, I am disappointed! I had such a hope she might be the lady of the forest. I wonder where she can live; there’s no house near this. Oh, dear! oh, dear! she is coming this way; she will pass me. Shall I speak to her? I almost think I will. She seems to have a nice face, although she is not very young and she is not very beautiful.”
The lady walked slowly on, her eyes still bent on her book, and so it happened that she never saw the radiant figure of pretty little Rachel until she was opposite to her. Her quiet, darkly fringed gray eyes were lifted then and surveyed the child first with astonishment; then with curiosity; then with very palpable agitation, wonder, and distress.
Rachel came a step nearer and was about to open her lips, when the lady abruptly closed her book, as abruptly turned on her heel, and walked rapidly, very rapidly, in the opposite direction away from the child.
“Oh, stop!” cried Rachel. “I want to speak to you. Who are you? It’s very interesting meeting you here in the very midst of the forest! Please don’t walk away so fast! Do tell me who you are! There, you are almost running, and I can’t keep up with you! What a rude forest lady you are! Well, I never knew any one so rude before!”
The lady had indeed quickened her steps, and before Rachel could reach her she had disappeared through a small green-covered porch into a tiny house, so clothed with innumerable creepers that at a distance it could scarcely be distinguished from the forest itself. Rachel stood panting and indignant outside the door. She had forgotten Surefoot; she had forgotten everything in the world but this rude lady who would not speak to her.
Rachel was a very passionate child, and in her first indignation she felt inclined to pull the bell and insist upon seeing and conversing with the strange, silent lady. Before she could carry this idea into execution the door was opened and a neatly dressed elderly servant came out.
“Well, little miss, and what is your pleasure?” she said.
“I want to see the lady,” said Rachel; “she is a very rude lady. I asked her some civil questions and she would not answer.”
The old servant laid her hand on Rachel’s arm and drew her a few steps away from the bowerlike house.
“What is your name, little miss?” she said.
“My name? Rachel Lovel, of course. Don’t you know? Everybody knows me in the forest. I’m Rachel Lovel of Avonsyde, and my pony’s name is Surefoot, and I have a sister called Kitty.”
“Well, missy,” continued the old woman, “I have no reason at all to misdoubt your tale, but the forest is a big place, and even the grandest little ladies are not known when they stray too far from home. I have no doubt, missy, that you are Miss Lovel, and I have no doubt also that you have a kind heart, although you have a hasty tongue. Now, you know, it was very rude of you to run after my lady when she didn’t want to speak to you. My lady was much upset by your following her, and you have done great mischief by just being such a curious little body.”
“Mischief, have I?” said Rachel; then she laughed. “But that is quite impossible,” she added, “for I never even touched the rude lady.”
“You may do mischief, Miss Lovel, by many means, and curiosity is one of the most spiteful of the vices. It’s my opinion that more mischief can be laid to curiosity’s door than to any other door. From Eve down it was curiosity did the sin. Now, missy, my lady is lonely and unhappy, and she don’t want no one to know – no one in all the wide world – that she lives in this little wild forest house; and if you tell, if you ever tell that you have seen her, or that you know where she lives, why, you will break the heart of the sweetest and gentlest lady that ever lived.”
“I don’t want to break any one’s heart,” said Rachel, turning pale. “What very queer things you say. I don’t want to break any one’s heart. I think I’ll go home now.”
“Not until you have promised me first, Miss Lovel – not until you have promised me true and faithful.”
“Oh, I’ll only tell Kitty and my aunties. I never care to talk to strangers about things. There’s a new little boy come to Avonsyde – a new little boy and his mother. Of course I won’t say anything to either of them, but I never keep secrets from Kitty – never!”
“Very well, miss; then my lady will have to go away. She is very tired and not strong, and she has just settled down in this little house, where she wants to rest and to be near – to be in the forest; and if you tell those aunts of yours and your little sister – if you tell anybody in all the wide world – she will have to go away again. We must pack up to night and we will be off in the morning. We’ll have to wander once more, and she’ll be sad and ill and lonely; but of course you won’t care.”
“What a cruel old woman you are!” said Rachel. “Of course I don’t want anybody to be sad and lonely. I don’t want to injure the forest lady, although I cannot make out why she should have to live so secret here. Is she a wicked lady and has she committed a crime?”
“Wicked?” said the old woman, her eyes flashing. “Ah, missy, that such words should drop from your lips, and about her! Are the angels in heaven wicked? Oh, my dear, good, brave lady! No, missy. She has to keep her secret, but it is because of a cruel sin and injustice done to her, not because of any wrong done by her. Well, good-night, miss. I’ll say no more. We must be off, we two, in the morning.”
“No, don’t go!” called out Rachel. “Of course I won’t tell. If she’s such a dear, good lady, I’ll respect her and love her and keep her secret; only I should like to see her and to know her name.”
“All in good time, my dear little missy. Thank God, you will be faithful to this good and wronged lady.”
“Yes, I’ll be very faithful,” said Rachel. “Not even to Kitty will I breathe one word. And now I must really go home.”
“God bless you, dear little miss – eh, but you’re a bonny child. And is the one you call Kitty as fair to look at?”
“As fair to look at?” laughed Rachel. “Why, I’m as brown as a nut and Kitty is dazzling. Kitty is pink and white, and if you only saw her hair! It’s like threads of gold.”
“And the little gentleman, dear? – you spoke of a little gentleman as well. Is he your brother, love?”
“My brother?” laughed Rachel. “I have no one but Kitty. I have a mother living somewhere – she’s lost, my mother is, and I’m going all round the world to look for her when I’m old enough; but I have no brother – I wish I had. Philip Lovel is a little new, strange boy who is going to be heir of Avonsyde. He came to-day with his mother. I don’t much like his mother. Now good-night, old woman. I’ll keep the good lady’s secret most faithfully.”
Rachel blew a kiss to the anxious-looking old servant, then ran gayly back to where she had left Surefoot. In the excitement of the last half-hour she
