did not know—that godmother was thinking of in particular, and the first idea that came into their minds was not far from the truth.
'Godmother! oh, godmother!' exclaimed all the voices together, so that they sounded like one, 'you don't mean that we're not to see each other any more?'
'Not yet, dears, not yet,' said godmother. 'But happy times pass and sad times pass. It must be so. And, after all, why should one fret? Those who love each other meet again as surely as the bees fly to the flowers.'
'In Heaven, godmother? Do you mean in Heaven?' asked Maia, in a low voice and with a look in her eyes telling that the tears were not far off.
Godmother smiled again.
'Sooner than that sometimes. Do not look so distressed, my pretty Maia. But come now. I must get you home before the storm breaks. Kiss each other, my darlings, but it is not good-bye yet. You will soon be together again—sooner than you think.'
No one ever thought of not doing—and at once—what godmother told them. Rollo and Maia said good-bye even more lovingly than usual to their dear Waldo and Silva, and then godmother, holding a hand of each, set out on their homeward journey.
It was as she had said—the storm-spirits were in the air. Above the wind and the cracking of the branches, brittle with the frost, and the far-off cries of birds and other creatures on their way to shelter in their nests or lairs, came another sound which the children had heard of but never before caught with their own ears—a strange, indescribable sound, neither like the murmuring of the distant sea nor the growl of thunder nor the shriek of the hurricane, yet recalling all of these.
''Tis the voice of the storm,' said godmother softly. 'Pray to the good God, my darlings, for those that travel by land or sea. And now, farewell!—that beaten path between the trees will bring you out at the castle gate, and no harm will come to you. Good-bye!'
She lingered a little over the last word, and this encouraged Maia to ask a question.
'When shall we see you again, dear godmother? And will you not tell us more about why you are sad?'
'It will pass with the storm, for all is for the best,' said godmother dreamily. 'When one joy passes, another comes. Remember that. And no true joy is ever past. Keep well within shelter, my children, till the storm has had its way, and then——' she stopped again.
'Then? What then? Oh, do tell us,' persisted Maia. 'You know, dear godmother, it is very dull in the white castle when we mayn't go out. Lady Venelda makes them give us many more lessons to keep us out of mischief, she says, and we really don't much mind. It's better to do lessons than nothing. Oh, godmother, we would have been so miserable here if we hadn't had you and Waldo and Silva!'
Godmother stroked Maia's sunny head and smiled down into her eyes. And something just then—was it a last ray of the setting sun hurrying off to calmer skies till the storm should have passed?—lighted up godmother's own face and hair with a wonderful glow. She looked like a beautiful young girl.
'Oh, how pretty you are!' said the children under their breath. But they were too used to these strange changes in godmother's appearance to be as astonished as many would have been.
'Three nights from now will be the day before Christmas Eve,' said godmother. 'When you go to bed look out in the snow and you will see my messenger. And remember, remember, if one joy goes, another comes. And no true joys are ever lost.'
And as they listened to her words, she was gone! So hand-in-hand, wondering what it all might mean, the children turned to the path in the snow she had shown them, which in a few minutes brought them safely home.
Though none too soon—scarcely were they within shelter when the tempest began. The wind howled, the sleet and hail dashed down, even the growling of distant thunder, or what sounded like it, was heard—the storm-spirits had it all their own way for that night and the day following; and when the second night came, and the turmoil seemed to have ceased, it had but changed its form, for the snow again began to fall, ever more and more heavily, till it lay so deep that one could hardly believe the world would ever again burst forth from its silent cold embrace.
And the white castle looked white no longer. Amid the surrounding purity it seemed gray and soiled and grimly ashamed of itself.
Three days had passed; the third night was coming.
'The snow has left off falling, and seems hardening,' Lady Venelda had said that afternoon. 'If it continues so, the children can go out to-morrow. It is not good for young people to be so long deprived of fresh air and exercise. But it is a hard winter. I only hope we shall have no more of these terrible storms before——,' but then she stopped suddenly, for she was speaking to the old doctor, and had not noticed that Rollo and Maia were standing near.
The children had seen with satisfaction that the snow had left off falling, for, though they had faith in godmother's being able to do what no one else could, they did not quite see how she was to send them a message if the fearful weather had continued.
'We might have looked out the whole of last night without seeing anything,' said Maia, 'the snow was driving so. And if godmother means to take us anywhere, Rollo, it is a good thing it's so fine to-night. She was afraid of our being out in the storm the other day, you remember.'
'Because there was no need for it,' said Rollo. 'It was already time for us to be home. I'm sure she could prevent any storm hurting us if she really wanted to take us anywhere. There's Nanni coming, Maia—as soon as she's gone call me, and we'll look out together.'
Maia managed to persuade Nanni that she—Nanni, not Maia—was extra sleepy that evening, and had better go to bed without waiting to undress her. I am not quite sure that Nanni did go at once to bed, for the servants were already amusing themselves with Christmas games and merriment down in the great kitchen, where the fireplace itself was as large as a small room, and she naturally liked to join the fun. But all Maia cared about was to be left alone with Rollo. She called to him, and then in great excitement the two children drew back the window-curtains, and extinguishing their candles, stood hand-in-hand looking out to see what was going to happen. There was no moon visible, but it must have been shining all the same, faintly veiled perhaps behind a thin cloud, for a soft light, increased by the reflection of the spotless snow, gleamed over all. But there was nothing to be seen save the smooth white expanse, bounded at a little distance from the house by the trees which clothed the castle hill, whose forms looked strangely fantastic, half shrouded as they were by their white garment.
'There is no one—nothing there,' said Maia in a tone of disappointment. 'She must have forgotten.'
'Forgotten—never!' said Rollo reproachfully. 'When has godmother ever forgotten us? Wait a little, Maia; you are so impatient.'
They stood for some minutes in perfect silence. Suddenly a slight, very slight crackling was heard among the branches—so slight was it, that, had everything been less absolutely silent, it could not have been heard—and the children looked at each other in eager expectation.
'Is it Silva—or Waldo?' said Maia in a whisper. 'She said her messenger.'
'Hush!' said Rollo, warningly.
A dainty little figure hopped into view from the shade of some low bushes skirting the lawn. It was a robin-redbreast. He stood still in the middle of the snow-covered lawn, his head on one side, as if in deep consideration. Suddenly a soft, low, but very peculiar whistle was heard, and the little fellow seemed to start, as if it
