Flora took a different view, and being goodnatured moreover, left off teasing Philip when she perceived that it was no joke with him, but that there was something serious as well as singular in his proceeding. She had to ride back alone, poor girl, for Philip shook his head when she suggested that he should join her, and of course she could say no more. She did not stay long after luncheon, finding the distress in which the family were plunged, and as soon as she was gone, the boy again betook himself to the garden, and got through the afternoon without a word.
He looked forward with the greatest horror to dinner time – a feeling which had hitherto been as strange to him as to any other schoolboy. So it was now, however, for he knew he should have a terrible ordeal to go through. His father, having returned from another unsuccessful ride, would not only feel angry, but hurt, if his son made no inquiries as to whether any news had been heard of his sister. If again, he saw him for the second night remaining silent and refusing everything to eat and drink save bread and water, his patience would most likely be exhausted, and he might act in a manner the consequences of which might be unpleasant.
Suppose his anger should take the form of sending Philip to his own room immediately after dinner, and thus preventing his being in the forest at the time appointed by the fairy queen!
This was a thought which gave the boy so much uneasiness, that he at last made up his mind that, as the risk was too serious to run, he had better shirk dinner altogether. So when the dressing-bell rang at half-past seven (for his parents always dined at eight), instead of going in to dress, Philip slipped quietly out of the shrubberies, with Pincher by his side, and made the best of his way to the forest. The moon would not rise that night till past nine, and of course he would be missed before that; but he thought they would very likely not send for him, or if they did, no one would be likely to find him.
He marched into the forest full of hope, feeling sure that he had obeyed the fairy's directions in every particular, and that unless she had grossly deceived him, he should soon see his dear sister once more.
On he went, as he thought, exactly in the same direction in which he had gone the day before. The air was mild and pleasant – a gentle breeze rustled in the leaves overhead – the birds had hushed their singing, and Nature seemed to be about taking her rest preparatory to a new day of life and action.
The turf was soft and springy under the boy's feet, the trees cast around him their strange and fantastic shadows, the distant bells fell faintly on his ears, and more faintly still as he went further into the forest, and all seemed so peaceful and rest-bringing that he thought it was no wonder that hermits and such like worthy people should generally choose some woodland recess in which to dwell when they have had enough of the outside world, and want to find rest and peace and happiness in the oblivion of worldly strife which such a solitude would engender.
But when Philip, thinking these thoughts and a great many others, no doubt, besides, had walked some distance, it struck him that he must somehow or other have missed his way, for he seemed to be in quite a different part of the forest from that in which he had met with his yesterday's adventure. It was getting darker and darker, as far as he could see, and he began to be afraid that he might after all miss the place and never find his sister again.
Under these circumstances he did not think it of much use to go wandering on and on, uncertain whether he was going right or wrong, and therefore sat down upon the gigantic roots of a large oak, and there took time to consider what he had better do next. It must now have been getting on for nine o'clock, and presently a soft, tender light began to steal down through the overhanging branches, and illuminate the forest with a silvery tinge. The moon was evidently beginning to assert her dominion over the night, and to tell the darkness that it could not possibly be allowed to have it all its own way.
This, then, was the hour of which the Fairy Queen had spoken, when she told him to come at the rising of the moon and make his second request.
Yes! beyond all doubt this was the hour; but where the Fairy glade was, was quite a different question.
Everything seemed to be quiet and still in the forest, which was going on in its natural way, as if it had never had a fairy in its shades, and did not want one either.
Philip rose to his feet and listened attentively. Nothing was to be heard but the distant hoot of an owl.
The moon grew brighter and brighter, and very beautiful did the trunks of the old trees appear in her silvery light, seeming to assume quaint and curious shapes, as the boy gazed earnestly around him, in the hope of seeing or hearing something which might direct his next proceeding.
For some time he gazed in vain, and then, remembering that he was not forbidden to speak save to a mortal, that Pincher was probably not considered a mortal in the sense in which the word had been used, and that if he was, the command to silence had ceased with the rising of the moon, he addressed his dog in the following words: —
"Pincher, old boy, I wish you would find the glade for me. After making me hold my tongue so long, and eat nothing but bread and water, it would be a thundering shame if the fairy sold me after all!"
Pincher, on being thus accosted, looked up in his master's face, whined gently, wagged his tail, and seemed inclined to run off, as if for a hunt on his own account.
But at that moment the rustling of wings was heard, accompanied by a rumbling sound inside the oak under which Philip had been sitting, and an instant afterwards he was startled by the sudden appearance of a white owl, very similar to that which he had seen and heard in the fairy glade. She bustled out of the hollow of the tree in just such a hurry as you might fancy her to have been in if she had overslept herself and found she should very likely be late for the train, and, as soon as she got well out, she perched upon a branch for a moment, shook her head once or twice as if to be quite satisfied that she was awake, and then pronouncing in a low tone the word "Follow," flew slowly off.
Philip did not hesitate for a moment to obey the bird's directions, as he had found it answer so well to do so before. He followed as fast as he could, though of course, being but a boy, he could not keep up with a bird, and would soon have lost sight of her if the distance had been long. Instead of this, however, it was fortunately short, and before the boy had gone above a hundred yards at the most, he found himself once more at the entrance of the fairy glade.
He knew pretty well what to do this time. He advanced to what appeared to be an eligible spot, pronounced the magic words with great emphasis, and then, breaking off a branch from a neighbouring tree as before, drew the mystic circle round himself and the dog, and then stood quietly waiting to see and hear what would happen next.
He had hardly completed the circle when the same thing happened as on the previous day: the same chorus of voices all broke out in the same tune, only with words slightly different – they sang and then came peals of laughter from every side.
"We don't want to drink – but by Jingo if we do,
We've got the wine – we've got the rain —
We've got the ev'ning dew,"
As these words rang in his ears, the boy wished as hard as he possibly could that his sister might be suffered to come back with him safe and sound, and no sooner had he formed the wish than there she stood under the old pollard, looking very much as usual, and rubbing her eyes as if she had just been suddenly awakened from a very comfortable sleep, and didn't half like it.
Philip's first impulse was to rush up to her at once, but he fortunately remembered that he was not in an ordinary place or discharging ordinary duties. On the contrary, he had a tremendous responsibility upon his shoulders, and if he should make any mistake it was impossible to foresee the consequences either to his sister or himself. He therefore stood perfectly still and said in clear and distinct tones, —
"Evelyn, I want you."
The child scarcely appeared to see him when bespoke – then she seemed to make an effort to move forward, but stopped as if something prevented her, and the next moment the whole troop of little beings came darting out from every corner of the glade and stood between her and her brother. Then, as they had done on the previous occasion, they joined hands and danced round and round the circle in which Philip stood, although their dance was slower and less merry than before.
This went on for several minutes, and then they stopped, and fell back on all sides into the fern and brushwood, whilst the little queen remained. She stood perfectly still for a full minute, casting a look upon Evelyn in which pleasure and sorrow were curiously blended, and seemingly unwilling to break the silence which prevailed. Then she turned her head round and looked upon Philip, who stood there, full of anxiety as to what would be the upshot of the whole affair, and doubtful whether he ought himself to speak or not. Then she said, —
"Once again, alas! we've heard
Magic sound of mighty word;
Which, tho' we would fain delay,
Elfins dare not disobey.
Since the maid has joined our ranks,
Shared our dance, and played our pranks
(Wonder not at what I tell),
We have learnt to love her well.
Greater grief has none e'er proved
Than to love – and lose the loved;
And if she would still remain,
Gladly we'd the maid detain.
Still – when magic word is said,
Magic word of mystic dread,
'Tis not as the Fairies please,
Save the Maiden's will agrees.
Say, dear child, sweet artless maid,
Dost thou love the woodland shade?
Would'st thou in the forest dwell,
Ever haunt the Fairy dell,
Ever leave thy former self,
And remain a woodland elf?
Wish – and thou hast power to be
Thing as wild, from earth as free,
As the Elf who speaks to thee!
Wish it not! – then count the cost —
To the Fairies thou art lost,
Never more in forest wild
Shalt thou act the elfin child;
Never, free from mortal care,
Flit on elf-wings through the air:
Scorning bolt, or bar, or lock,
Till the crowing of the cock
Summon back thy mates and thee
To moss-couches 'neath the tree.
Form thy wish, then, maiden dear,
None shall dare to interfere!"
As the fairy queen spoke, Philip listened with great attention, with some concern, and no little indignation. Her voice was very sweet and pleasant; the picture she drew of the forest life of an elf was by no means disagreeable, and as he gathered from her words that Evelyn had already tasted of its delights, he was apprehensive of the effect which this temptation still to share it might possibly have. He felt, moreover, that as he had honestly fulfilled his part of the bargain, it would be palpably unfair if he got nothing by it, except the knowledge that his sister was a fairy, which would be but a very small consolation to the people at home. So he thought he had better strike in and tell his opinion at once, which he did in the following way: —
"I say!" he cried, "this is not fair. I was to come here to-night and have my second boon – and I have said what it is. It will be no end of a shame if you don't give me back my sister. In fact, you promised it yesterday; and no fellow can stand being made to hold his tongue and eat nothing but bread and water for the best part of a day and a half, and then be sold after all. Come! I say! this won't do at all, you know!"
The fairy listened to him with great politeness, and at once replied to his remarks, —
"I bade thee come by light of moon
If thou would'st crave a second boon.
I bade thee come: and thou art here,
A faithful brother, void of fear;
And thou hast kept conditions two,
Such as had been observed by few.
Yet – ere you blame my words, good youth,
Be moderate, and hear the truth.
When maids or youths o'er fairy lore
Attentively are wont to pore,
Their hearts 'twould mightily surprise
To see how oft our elfin eyes
See, and rejoice to see, them read
Of many a magic Fairy deed.
And when such youth or maiden list
To say that Fairies do exist,
We love them passing well, forsooth,
Because that they believe the truth.
So, when beneath our woodland shade
There wanders tender youth or maid,
On certain spot – at certain hours —
Our might avails to make them ours.
And when, resisting not herself,
A Maiden once becomes an elf,
Dares from her mortal form t' escape,
And roam the world in Elfin shape,
Unless it be by her free will,
She must remain an Elfin still.
'Tis true: the words of power have might
To force us into mortal sight,
And, tho' in elfin garment drest,
A mortal maid must stand confest
To eyes of him who once has known
And said these words – to him alone.
Thy sister, then, thine eyes have seen,
But I, thy sister's Fairy queen,
Have right to counsel and persuade
Her – who is half a woodland maid —
And should she wish it, she must stay
Beneath my loving Fairy sway.
If so – kind youth, oh! ne'er repine,
Or envy this success of mine;
Her fate for ever light and free
From mortal grief, will happy be,
For mortal sin and human woe,
Thenceforward she shall never know!"
As the fairy queen spoke these words, many thoughts passed rapidly through the mind of the boy. He saw at once that the victory was not yet so entirely won as he had supposed, and that people could not change to and fro between mortal and fairy form as quickly as they pleased. Of course he had not known his sister's fate until the fairy queen uttered these rhymes, and even now he was left somewhat in the dark. Besides, as you will recollect, the excellent elfin had not told him the exact truth after all, because she led him distinctly to infer that Evelyn had become one of the elves by her own consent and free will, whereas we know perfectly well that she had no intention of becoming anything of the kind, and that as to "resisting not herself," she had no idea that resistance would do any good, and if she had thought so, would not have known in what way to resist, when the fern leaf was waved over her head, and she began to be sensible of the magic charm which came over her.
It is quite true that she had taken kindly to the life of an elf, but it was certainly hardly fair to let her brother suppose she had become one by choice. This, however, was not a point upon which he was at all troubled. For one instant he doubted whether, if she were really so happy, it would be doing her a real kindness to take her away from the fairies. But it was only for an instant. He felt sure that she must be under some charm which prevented her declaring her own sentiments, and therefore he did not at once put the question to her.
But he remembered to have read in various books concerning elves and fairies, that though they are a very interesting part of creation, they are in some respects inferior to mankind, and that they are a kind of being existing entirely and for ever in their present condition, with no soul and with no such future as that for which Christian men and women hope. Therefore, according to this view, his sister's condition would be materially changed for the worse if she remained an elf, and it was his duty, if possible, to prevent it. Moreover, his father and mother had some claim to be considered; and he could not help thinking that if Evelyn was a free agent and could say what she thought, felt, and wished, she would not only promptly recognise that claim, but would long to rejoin the parents of whom she was so devotedly fond. He thought, perhaps, also of the mutual affection which had so long existed between his sister and himself; but I will do him the justice to say that I do not think he would have wished her back if he had been satisfied that it would be best for her own happiness that she should stay where she was.
All these thoughts flashed through Philip's mind during the fairy's speech, and by the time it was ended he had quite made up his mind what to do. He looked firmly – though not unkindly – at the little lady, and then, turning to his sister, he said in a loud, clear, steady voice, —
"Evelyn, I wish you to come to me and we will go home together."
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, a long, low wailing sound arose on all sides of him, as if the little beings of the glade were bemoaning an affliction which they saw preparing for them and had no power to prevent. It hung in the air for a few seconds, and then died away in mournful cadence among the trees.
Meanwhile the effect of Philip's words upon his sister were immediate and wonderful. She threw back her head, rubbed her eyes again, looked first to the right and then to the left, and then stepped straight forward for a couple of yards, and stopped, just as if somebody was trying to hold her back. I suppose that she was too big to be held back by the little elves, since she had resumed her old mortal form at the first summons of her brother; but I also suppose from this circumstance that they tried to keep her, and she always said afterwards, that soft musical voices were in her ears, telling her of the joys of fairy-land and the happiness of the little elves, and begging her not to leave their merry party who had loved her so well.
Philip, observing her apparent hesitation, deemed it quite necessary to take forthwith another and a more decided step. Elevating his voice a little, and speaking in a very firm tone, he said:
"Come along, Evelyn dear, pray do not dawdle any longer. I wish you would come directly. By jingo, we shall hardly be in time for tea!"
The words were scarcely spoken, when the same mournful sound arose, even more piteous than before, and rang through the evening stillness with a melancholy cadence which might have melted the hardest heart, so much did it convey of real sorrow. But at the same moment all attempts to retain Evelyn ceased – her natural look, colour, and manner seemed suddenly to have returned, and she bounded into the magic circle, and ran into her brother's arms.
"Oh, Philip dear!" she cried. "Where have you been? I haven't seen you for such a time! How nice it is to have you at home again!"
The brother returned her affectionate caresses, and reminding her of the lateness of the hour, said that they must return home at once. He purposely forebore to say anything of what had recently occurred, not knowing what the consequences might be, either to his sister or himself, and putting his arm tenderly round her waist, began to leave the glade, calling Pincher to follow him. They had not moved many yards forward, however, before low strains of sweet music were heard behind them, and turning round, they saw the form of the fairy queen, who was gazing after them with a look of mingled tenderness and regret. She gracefully waved her hand to them as they retreated, and in her own sweet voice thus addressed them:
"Farewell! ye mortal children twain,
Perchance we ne'er may meet again;
Yet, should we ever chance to meet,
My elves the twain will kindly greet.
And ye, in prose or minstrel lays,
When ye shall read of woodland fays,
Have friendly feeling for the elves
Who love you as they love themselves.
No more amid our glade to roam —
The brother leads his sister home.
From Fairy-land the twain depart,
To gladden soon a mother's heart,
And make a saddened home, to-night,
Once more enraptured with delight.
True brother! thou hast brought thine aid
To rob us of our captured maid;
Yet wast thou right, and for the same
'Tis not for fairy lips to blame.
And thou, sweet Eve, who thus has left
Thy elf companions all bereft,
Since thou with us no more wilt dwell,
We wish thee, lovingly, farewell."
Then the fairy stepped lightly and gracefully back, still waving her hand; the music grew fainter and fainter, and ere long both the sound and the fairy form melted away from the sight and hearing of the brother and sister, though the last lingering word, Farewell, once and again repeated, still seemed to fall softly on their ears as they left the glade.
They hastened home as fast as they could, and you may imagine the excitement with which their arrival was greeted. Evelyn and her mother devoured each other with kisses, and the father had such share of them as was left for him. Philip was at once restored to favour, and not only was his former silence forgiven, but every amends was made to him, in the way of diet, for his fasting upon the previous day.
Mrs. Trimmer was so rejoiced at the happy conclusion of the adventure, that she did not scold Evelyn for a month, in consequence of which her progress in French and German was visibly slower than for some time past.
Everybody in the house was glad to get the child back, and the only provoking part of it was that, even after her extraordinary adventures, disbelief in fairies still existed even in that well-informed household. One gave one explanation of Evelyn's absence, and one another; one laid it to the gipsies, another said she had run away and hid in a hollow tree, but nobody seemed to be entirely satisfied with the plain, unvarnished truth as I have told it to you.
But so it is in this wicked world. Invent a perfectly untrue story, but make it seem a little probable, and everybody will believe you, and not throw the slightest doubt upon your veracity. On the other hand, let an extraordinary thing really happen, and if it falls to your lot to tell it, you are generally considered a "story-teller" in the worst sense of the word.
This makes me so cross sometimes, that I think I will give up writing about fairies altogether, and only write about grave and serious subjects. But if I do that, I am afraid that nobody except members of parliament and diplomatists, politicians and teetotalers, and all those silly sort of people, will read what I write, and so I think I will go on for a little while longer in my old style.
I know that elves and fairies exist, and if all the rest of the world believes differently, it does not cause me the slightest inconvenience; they can go their way, and I can go mine; and if they don't see any fairies, it is probably their own fault, as it is, I am sure, their own loss.
I have no more to tell you of Philip and Evelyn now, except that they both grew up and prospered, and that Evelyn often tells her little girls the story of her adventure with the fairies; and if anyone who reads this story would like to know more particulars, she is so good-natured that I am quite sure she will tell them all about it if they will only take the trouble to ask her when she does not happen to be particularly engaged.