Ruby meanwhile was running or rather stumbling down the stones. She cried and sobbed as she went; her pretty face had never, I think, looked so woebegone and forlorn; for it was new to her to be really distressed or anxious about anything.

“Mavis, Mavis,” she called out every now and then, “are you there darling? can’t you answer?” as if, even had the wind been less wildly raging, Mavis could possibly have heard her so far-off.

And before long Ruby was obliged to stop for a moment to gather strength and breath. The wind seemed to increase every minute. She turned her back to it for a second; the relief was immense; and just then she noticed that she was still clutching the little bunch of flowers she had picked up. They made her begin to cry again.

“Mavis loves them so,” she thought, and her memory went back to the happy peaceful afternoon they had spent with old Adam and his grandson. How kind they were, and how nice the cakes were that Winfried had made for them himself!

“Oh,” thought Ruby, “I wish Bertrand had never come! It’s all – ” but there she hesitated. There had been truth in her cousin’s mean reproach, that the mischief and the cruel tricks they had planned had been first thought of by her. And Ruby knew, too, in her heart, that she had not been gentle or unselfish or kind long before she had ever seen Bertrand. She had not been so actively naughty because she had had no chance of being so, as it were. The coming together of the two selfish unfeeling natures had been like the meeting of the flint and steel, setting loose the hidden fire.

And besides this, for Bertrand there might have been some excuse; he had been neglected and yet spoilt; he had never known what it was truly to love any one, whereas Ruby had lived in love all her life; and this was her return for it.

“I have killed my little Mavis,” she sobbed. “Yes, it has been all me. We needn’t have minded Bertrand; he couldn’t have made me naughty if I hadn’t let him. Oh, Mavis, Mavis, whatever shall I do?” Her glance fell again on the flowers in her hand. They were not the least withered or spoilt, but as fresh as if just newly gathered. They seemed to smile up at her, and she felt somehow comforted.

“Dear little flowers,” she said. Seldom in her life had Ruby spoken so tenderly. She started, as close beside her she heard a faint sigh.

“Ruby,” said a voice, “can you hear me?”

“Yes,” said the little girl, beginning to tremble.

“But you cannot see me? and yet I am here, close to you, as I have often been before. Try Ruby, try to see me.”

“Are – are you a mermaid, or a – that other thing?” asked the child.

There came a little laugh, scarcely a laugh, then the sigh again.

“If you could see me you would know how foolish you are,” said the voice. “But I must have patience – it will come – your eyes are not strong, Ruby; they are not even as strong as Bertrand’s.”

“Yes, they are,” said Ruby indignantly. “I’ve never had sore eyes in my life, and Bertrand’s have hurt him several times lately.”

“I know; so much the better for him,” was the reply. “Well, good-bye for the present, Ruby. Go on to look for Mavis; you must face it all – there, the rain is coming now. Ah!”

And with this, which sounded like a long sigh, the voice seemed to waft itself away, and down came the rain. The same swirl which had been too much for sturdy Bertrand was upon Ruby now, standing, too, in a far more exposed place, with no shelter near, and the rough rocky path before her. She did not stand long; she turned again and began to descend, stumbling, slipping, blinded by the rain, dashed and knocked about by the wind.

“She might have helped me, whoever she was that spoke to me,” sobbed Ruby. “It isn’t my fault if I can’t see creatures like that. I’m not good enough, I suppose.”

As she said these last words, or thought them, rather, a queer little thrill passed through her, and something, in spite of herself, made her look up. Was it – no, it could not be – she had suddenly thought a gleam of sunshine and blue sky had flashed on her sight; but no, the storm was too furious. “Yet still, I did,” thought Ruby, “I did see something bright and blue, as if two of my little flowers had got up there and were looking down on me.”

She glanced at her hand; the forget-me-nots were gone!

“I must have dropped them,” she said. “Oh dear, dear!”

And yet as she struggled on again she did not feel quite so miserable.

Yet it was terribly hard work, and every moment her anxiety about Mavis increased; Ruby had never felt so much in all her life.

“Who could it be that spoke to me so strangely?” she asked herself over and over again. “And what can I do to be able to see her? I wonder if Mavis has seen her, I wonder – ” and suddenly there came into her mind the remembrance of Miss Hortensia’s long-ago story of the vision in the west turret.

“There was something about forget-me-nots in it,” she thought dreamily. “Could it have been true?”

How she had mocked at the story!

She had at last reached the shore by this time. The rain still fell in pitiless torrents, but the wind had fallen a little, and down here she seemed rather less exposed than on the face of the cliffs. Still Ruby was completely drenched through; never before had she had any conception of the misery to which some of our poor fellow-creatures are exposed to almost every day of their lives. And yet, her fears for Mavis overmastered all her other sufferings; for the first time Ruby thought of another more than of herself.

“Mavis, dear little Mavis, Mavis darling, where are you?” she sobbed wildly, her teeth chattering, while terrible shivers shook her from head to foot. “Oh, it can’t be that she is under those dreadful, fierce, leaping waves. They look as if they were dancing in cruel joy over something they had got;” and a shudder worse than those caused by the cold went through the poor child.

“Mavis,” she called out at last, after she had peered round about every large stone, every corner where her sister could possibly have tried to find shelter, without coming upon the slightest trace of either the child or the boat, “you must be in the sea. I’ll go after you; it doesn’t matter if I am drowned if you are. Perhaps – perhaps the mermaids are keeping you safe; there are kind ones among them it says in the fairy stories.”

And she turned resolutely to the water. It was cold, icily cold as it touched first her feet, then her ankles, then crept up to her knees; it seemed to catch her breath even before it was at all deep. Ruby felt her powers going and her senses failing.

“I shall never be able to find Mavis even if she is under the sea,” she thought to herself, just as a huge wave caught her in its rolling clutch, and she knew no more.

It seemed as if time beyond counting, years, centuries had passed when Ruby came to her senses again, enough to know that she was herself, gradually to remember that once, long ago, there had been a little girl called Ruby, somewhere, somehow, and that some one dear, most dear to her, had been in awful danger from which she had tried to rescue her. And through all the long mist, through all the dream wanderings of her spirit, in which may be it had been learning lessons, the fruit of which remained, though the teachings themselves were forgotten, – for who knows, who can limit what we do learn in these mysterious ways? – Ruby’s guardian angel must have rejoiced to see that the thought of her sister, not herself, was uppermost.

“Mavis,” was the first word she whispered; “Mavis, are you alive? Are you not drowned, darling? But it was such a very long time ago. Perhaps the world is finished. But Mavis – I thought Mavis was dead; and, oh! who are you?” she ended with a thrill which seemed to make her quite alive and awake.

“Are you the fairy in the turret? And what are you doing to my eyes?”

She sat up and rubbed them. There was the strangest feeling in them – not pain now; indeed it was, though strange, a beautiful feeling. They felt drawn upwards, upwards to something or some one, and a new light and strength seemed to fill them, light and strength and colour such as Ruby had never before even imagined. And the some one – yes, it was the lovely gracious figure, with the exquisite never-, once seen, to-be-forgotten eyes, of Winfried’s princess. Ruby saw her at last!

A smile overspread the sweet face; the blue eyes shone with gladness.

“How often I have hoped for this,” she murmured. “No, Ruby, you will never know how often. Darling, shut your eyes, you must not strain them; shut your eyes and think of Mavis, and trust yourself to me.”

Ruby obeyed; she had not even looked round to see where she was; she only felt that she was lying on something soft and warm and dry; oh, how nice it was to feel dry again. For now the distant, long-ago sensation began to fade, and she remembered everything clearly as if it had happened, say, yesterday or the day before at farthest. The naughty mischief she and Bertrand had been planning, the strange little boat, the deserted cottage, the hurricane, and the misery about Mavis, the plunge in search of her into the sea, even to the loss of the forget-me-nots, which had been her only comfort, all came back; and with it a wonderful delightful feeling of hope and peace and trust, such as she had never known before. She gave herself up to the kind strong arms that clasped her round! “She will take me to Mavis,” she thought; “and oh, I will try never, never to be selfish and unkind and naughty again.”

Then, still wrapped in the soft warm mantle or rug she had felt herself lying upon, she was lifted upwards, upwards still, she knew not and cared not whither, for Ruby’s eyes were closed and she was fast asleep, and this time her sleep was dreamless.

“Ruby, my own little Ruby,” were the first words she heard. They awoke her as nothing else would have done.

“Mavis,” she whispered.

Yes, it was Mavis. She was leaning over the couch on which Ruby lay. Never had Ruby seen her so bright and sweet and happy-looking.

“Mavis,” Ruby repeated. “And you weren’t drowned, darling? At least;” and as she raised herself a little she looked round her doubtfully, “at least, not unless this is heaven? It looks like it – only,” with a deep sigh, “it can’t be, for if it were, I shouldn’t be in it.”

“No, darling, it isn’t heaven, but it’s a beautiful place, and I think it must be a little on the way there. It’s one of the homes of our princess; she won’t tell me the name, but I call it Forget-me-not Land. Isn’t that a good name? Look all about, Ruby.”

They were in a little arbour, in one corner of what one would have called a garden, except that gardens are usually enclosed. They don’t stretch as far as the eyes can see, which was the case here. A soft clear yet not dazzling or glaring light was over everything, yet there was no sun visible in the sky. And as Ruby gazed and gazed she began to feel that there were differences between this garden and any others she had ever seen. One of these Mavis pointed out to her.

“Do you see, Ruby,” she said, “that all the flowers in this garden are our wild flowers, though they are such beauties?” She stooped to gather one or two blossoms growing close beside her as she spoke.

“See, here are the same kind of forget-me-nots that were at the old cottage, and that we found so strangely on the castle terrace. And here are violets and primroses and snowdrops, all the spring flowers; and the summer ones too, honeysuckle and dog-roses; and even the tiny common ones, buttercups and daisies, and celandine and pimpernel, and eye-bright and shepherd’s-purse, and – and – ”

“But you’re mixing them all up together,” said Ruby. “They don’t all come at the same time of year.”

“Yes, they do here,” said Mavis. “That’s the wonder. I found it out for myself almost immediately, and the princess was so pleased I did. I think this garden is a sort of nursery for wild flowers; you see up where we live there are no gardens or gardeners for them.”

“Up!” said Ruby, “are we down below the world? Are we out of the world?”

Mavis smiled.

“I don’t know,” she said. “It may be up or it may be down. It doesn’t matter. The princess says we may call it fairyland if we like. And fancy, Ruby, old Adam is the gardener here.”

A shadow passed over Ruby’s face.

“Don’t be frightened, dear. He knew you were coming, and he’s as kind as kind. We’re to have supper at his cottage before we go home.”

“Oh,” said Ruby disappointed, “then we are to go home?”

“Oh yes,” Mavis explained, “it wouldn’t do for us to stay always here. But I think we may come back again sometimes. Adam has been often here, ever since he was a boy, he told me. And now he’s going to stay always, till it’s time for him to go somewhere else, he says. It was too cold and rough for him up by the sea now he is so old.”

“And – about Winfried?” asked Ruby, growing very red.

Mavis laughed joyously.

“Winfried,” she cried, “why, he was here already when I came; the boat went down, down with me, Ruby, when the great waves rolled over it and me. I was frightened, just for a minute, and then it was all right, and the princess and Winfried lifted me out.”

“How many days ago was it?” asked Ruby.

Mavis shook her head.

“I don’t know that either; perhaps it’s not days at all here. I’ve never thought about it. But cousin Hortensia won’t be frightened. The princess told me that. Winfried will take us home. He can’t stay here either; he’s got work to do somewhere, and he can only come back sometimes. There, Ruby – look – there he comes; do you see him coming up that little hill? He’ll be here in a few minutes.”

Chapter Eleven.
Down the Well

“Blue-bells the news are spreading,
Ring-a-ting, ting, ting, ting!
All the flowers have voices,
Lovely the songs that they sing;
How the blue-bell rejoices,
Ting-a-ring, ting, ting, ting!”

Ruby shrank back a little.

“I don’t want to see Winfried,” she said, “after all we did. And, oh Mavis, I must be in such a mess – my clothes were all soaked in the sea.”

“No, they weren’t,” said Mavis, laughing; “at least if they were they’ve come right again. Stand up, Ruby, and shake yourself, and look at yourself. There now, did you ever look neater or nicer in your life?”

Ruby stood up and looked at herself as Mavis advised her.

“Is this my own frock?” she said. “No, it can’t be. See, Mavis, it’s all beautifully embroidered with forget-me-nots! And what lovely blue ribbon my hair is tied with; and my hands are so white and clean Mavis, did the princess dress me while I was asleep?”

Mavis nodded her head sagely.

“Something like it,” she said.

“And oh,” continued Ruby, “your frock is just the same, and your ribbons and all. How nice you look, Mavis! Is the princess here? I should so like her to see us.”

“She’s not here to-day,” said Mavis. “She’s away somewhere – I’m not sure,” she added in a lower voice, “but that it’s about Bertrand.”

Ruby gave a sort of shiver.

“Oh Mavis!” she said, “he was so cruel and so heartless, and I was so miserable. I do hope the princess will make him go quite away.”

“Or – if he was to be quite changed,” said Mavis.

“No, no. I don’t want him. I only want you, my darling little Mavis, and we shall be so happy – much, much happier than we have ever been. Kiss me, Mavis, and tell me you quite forgive me, and if ever I am naughty or horrid again, I hope the princess will punish me.”

“She won’t let you forget her any way,” said Mavis. “I think that is how she punishes.”

Ruby looked rather puzzled; but before she could ask more they heard Winfried’s whistle, and in a moment he appeared. His face was all one smile – all Ruby’s fears and misgivings faded away before it.

“Grandfather is waiting for you,” he said. “There are some cakes, Miss Ruby, that you will find even better than those others. For everything is better here, you see.”

“How lovely it must all be,” said Ruby, with a little sigh. “Aren’t you sorry, Winfried, that you can’t stay here altogether? Mavis says you have to go away to work.”

“Of course,” said Winfried cheerily. “It would never do, young as I am, not to work. And we shouldn’t enjoy this half as much if we had it always – it’s the rest and refreshment after common life that makes half the happiness. It’s different for gran – he’s done his part, none better, and now his work should be light I’m thankful to know he’s safe here. Now we had better go – down that little hill is the way to his cottage.”

Children, you have perhaps never been in fairyland, nor, for that matter, have I been there either. But I have had glimpses of it a good many times in my life, and so I hope have you. And these glimpses, do you know, become more frequent and are less fleeting as one grows older. I, at least, find it so. Is not that something to look forward to? Though, after all, this sweet country to which our three little friends, thanks to the beautiful princess, had found their way, was scarcely the dream region which we think of as fairyland; it was better described by little Mavis’s own name for the nameless garden – “Forget-me-not Land”; for once having entered there, no one can lose the remembrance of it, any more than once having looked into her eyes one can forget Princess Forget-me-not herself.

But it would be difficult to describe this magic land; I must leave a good deal of it to that kind of fancy which comes nearer truth than clumsy words. Though, as it is nice to be told all that can be told of the sweetest and most beautiful things, I will try to tell you a little of what Ruby and Mavis saw.

It might not have seemed such a lovely place to everybody, perhaps. Time had been even when Ruby herself might not have thought it so; for this garden-land was not a gorgeous place; it was just sweet and restful. As I told you, all the flowers were wild flowers; but that gives you no idea of what they looked like, for they were carefully tended and arranged, growing in great masses together in a way we never see, except sometimes in spring when the primroses almost hide the ground where they grow, or at midsummer when a rich luxuriance of dog-roses and honeysuckle makes it seem as if they had been “planted on purpose,” as children say. All along the grassy paths where Winfried led them, every step made the little girls exclaim in new admiration.

“Oh see, Ruby, there is a whole bank of ‘Robin.’ I could not have believed it would look so beautiful; and there – look at those masses of ‘sweet Cicely,’ just like snowflakes. And in our fields it is such a poor frightened little weed of a flower you scarcely notice it,” said Mavis.

“But it’s lovely if you look into it closely,” said Winfried. “Some of the very tiniest flowers are really the most beautiful.”

Then they came in sight of a stretch of hair-bells – white and blue – the kind that in some places are called “blue-bells.”

“Stop a moment,” said the boy. “Stop and listen – hush – there now, do you hear them ringing? That is a sound you can never hear in – anywhere but here.”

They listened with all their ears, you may be sure. Yes, as they grew accustomed to the exceeding stillness, to the clear thin fineness of the air, they heard the softest, sweetest tinkle you can imagine; a perfect fairy bell-ringing, and the longer they listened the clearer it grew.

“Oh, how wonderful,” said Mavis.

And Ruby added, “I should think if we lived long enough in this country we should end by hearing the grass growing.”

“Perhaps,” said Winfried.

“But don’t you miss the sea things?” Ruby went on. “You love them so, Winfried, and somehow you seem to belong to the sea.”

“So I do,” the boy replied. “The sea is my life. Coming here is only a rest and a holiday.”

“I wonder,” said Mavis, “I wonder if there is a garden country for the sea to match this for the land. A place where seaweeds and corals and all the loveliest sea things are taken care of, like the wild flowers here?”

“You may be sure there is,” said the fisher-boy, smiling. “There is no saying what the princess won’t have to show us, and where she won’t take us now she has us in hand. Why, only to look into her eyes, you can see it – they seem to reach to everywhere; everywhere and everything beautiful seems in them.”

“You have seen farther into them than we have,” said Mavis thoughtfully. “But still I think I can understand what you mean.”

“So can I, a very little,” said Ruby. “But – they are rather frightening too, don’t you think?”

“They must be at first,” said Winfried.

But just then, a little way off, they caught sight of old Adam coming to meet them. His cottage was close by; they came upon it suddenly, for it stood half-hidden under the shelter of the hill they had been descending. Such a lovely cottage it was – so simple, yet so pretty; quite clean, with a cleanness you never see out of fairyland or places of that kind, with flowers of all kinds, forget-me-nots above all, clustering about it and peeping in at the windows.

Adam welcomed his little guests as kindly as if no unkind thought of him had ever entered Ruby’s head; he made no difference between her and Mavis, and I think this caused Ruby to feel more sorry than anything could have done.

If they had been happy that afternoon in the cottage by the sea, you can fancy how happy they were in this wonderful new fairy home of the good old man’s. There was no end to the things he had to show them and teach them, mostly, I think, about flowers; things they had never dreamt of, beauties of form and colour such as it would be impossible for me to describe. And each time they came to see him he promised to show and teach them still more. But at last Winfried said they must be going.

“I promised the princess,” he said, for now he spoke of her quite openly to the children, “that I would take you home by the time the sun sets beside the castle, and it must be near that now.”

“And how are we to go home?” asked Ruby.

“The boat is ready,” Winfried answered.

“But where’s the sea for it to sail on?” whispered Ruby to Mavis. She had not the courage to ask Winfried anymore.

“Wait and see,” said Mavis. “I don’t know, but it is sure to be all right.”

Then they bade Adam farewell, promising to come to visit him again whenever they should be allowed to do so – and rather wondering where Winfried was going to take them, they set off.

There was some reason for Ruby’s question, for so far they had seen no water at all in Forget-me-not Land. Everything seemed fresh and fragrant, as if there was no dearth of moisture, but there was neither lake, nor pond, nor running brook. Winfried mounted the hill a little way, then turning sharply, they found themselves in a sort of small wooded ravine or glen. Steps led down the steep sides to the bottom, which was a perfect thicket of ferns, mostly of the deep green delicate kind, which loves darkness and water.

Winfried stooped and lifted, by a ring fixed into it, a heavy stone.

“You won’t be frightened,” he said. “This is the way. We have to go down the well. I’ll go first; you’ll find it quite easy.”

It scarcely looked so, for it was very dark. Winfried stepped in – there was a ladder against the side – and soon disappeared, all but his head, then Mavis, and lastly, trembling a little it must be confessed, Ruby. As soon as they were all inside, the stone lid shut itself down; but instead, as one might have expected, of this leaving them in darkness, a clear almost bright light shone upwards as if a large lamp had been lighted at the foot of the well, and without difficulty the children made their way down the ladder.

“That’s very nice,” said Ruby. “I was so afraid we were going to be in the dark.”

“Were you, dear?” said a voice whose sweet tones were not strange to her. “No fear of that when I have to do with things. Jump, that’s right; here you are, and you too, Mavis.”

The princess was standing in the boat, for the “well” widened out at one side into a little stream large enough to row along.

“The brook takes us to the river, and the river to the sea; that is your way home,” she said. “Winfried will row, and you two shall nestle up to me.”

She put an arm round each, and in silence, save for the gentle drip of the oars, the little boat made its way. It was a still evening, not yet dark, though growing dusk, and though they were back in the winter world by now the children felt no cold – who could have felt cold with the princess’s mantle round them? They grew sleepy, too sleepy to notice how, as she had said, the brook turned into the river, and the river led on to the sea, the familiar sea, not more than a mile or two from the cove below the castle. And it was only when the boat grated a little on the pebbly shore that both Ruby and Mavis started up to find themselves alone with Winfried. The princess had left them.

“I will go up to the door with you,” said the boy. “Miss Hortensia is expecting you. See, there she is standing under the archway with a lantern.”

“My darlings,” said their cousin. “So Winfried has brought you safe home.”

“And I must hurry back,” said the fisher-lad. And almost before they could thank him or say good-night, he had disappeared again in the fast-gathering gloom.

It seemed to the children as Miss Hortensia kissed them that years had passed since they had seen her or their home.

“Haven’t you been dreadfully lonely without us all this time, dear cousin?” said Mavis.

“No, dears, not particularly so. It is a little later than usual, but when Winfried ran back to tell me he would bring you safe home, he said it might be so.”

“Was it only this afternoon we went?” said Ruby wonderingly.

Miss Hortensia looked at her anxiously.

“My dear, are you very tired? You seem half asleep.”

“I am rather sleepy,” said Ruby. “Please may we go to bed at once.”

“Certainly. I will tell Ulrica to take your supper upstairs. I do hope you haven’t caught cold. We must shut the door;” for they were standing all this time at the entrance under the archway. “Bertrand is behind you, I suppose?”

The little girls looked at each other.

“We have not seen him for ever so long,” they replied.

“He would not stay with me,” said Ruby.

“I thought perhaps we should find him here,” said Mavis.

Miss Hortensia looked more annoyed than anxious. “I suppose he will find his way back before long,” she said. “Bad pennies always turn up. But he is a most troublesome boy. I wish I had asked Winfried what to do – ”

“I don’t think he could have done anything,” said Mavis. “But – I’m sure Bertrand is safe. What’s the matter, Ulrica?”

For at that moment – they were on their way upstairs by this time – the young maid-servant came flying to meet them, her face pale, her eyes gleaming with fear.

“Oh,” she cried, “I am glad the young ladies are safe back. Martin has seen the blue light in the west turret; he was coming from the village a few minutes ago, and something made him look up. It is many and many a year since it has been seen, not since the young ladies were babies, and it always – ”

“Stop, Ulrica,” said Miss Hortensia sharply. “It is very wrong of you to come startling us in that wild way, and the young ladies so tired as you see. Call Bertha and Joseph. You take the children to their room, and see that they are warm and comfortable. I will myself go up to the west turret with the others and put a stop to these idle tales.”

But Ruby and Mavis pressed forward. A strange thought had struck them both.

“Oh cousin, let us go too,” they said. “We are not a bit frightened.”

So when old Joseph and Bertha had joined them, the whole party set off for the turret.

As they got near to the top of the stair, a slight sound made them all start.

“Hush!” said Miss Hortensia. They stood in perfect silence. It came again – a murmur of faint sobs and weeping. Ulrica grew whiter and whiter.

“I told you so,” she began, but no one listened. They all pressed on, Miss Hortensia the first.

When she opened the door it was, except for the lamp she held in her hand, upon total darkness. But in one corner was heard a sort of convulsive breathing, and then a voice.

“Who’s there? Who’s there? Oh the pain, the cruel pain!”

And there – lying on the same little couch-bed on which years and years ago Miss Hortensia had slept and dreamt of the lovely fairy lady – was Bertrand – weeping and moaning, utterly broken down.

But he turned away sullenly from Miss Hortensia when she leant over him in concern and pity; he would not look at Ruby either, and it was not till after some moments had passed that they at last heard him whisper.

“Mavis, I want to speak to Mavis. Go away everybody. I only want Mavis.”

They all looked at each other in mute astonishment. They thought he was wandering in his mind. But no; he kept to the same idea.

“Mavis,” he repeated, “come here and give me your hand. I can’t see you. Oh the pain, the pain!” Then Mavis came forward, and the others drew back in a group to the door.

“Try and find out what it is; surely it is not another naughty trick that he is playing,” said Miss Hortensia anxiously.

“No, no. I am sure it isn’t. Don’t be afraid, dear cousin,” said the little girl.