CHAPTER XI - 'THE UNSELFISH MERMAID'
The stranger viewed the shore around.
The Lady of the Lake.
Leonore sprang to her feet, and as she did so something fell on the floor; it was her last remaining nut! She gazed at Hildegarde.
'Look,' she exclaimed, 'it dropped out of my pocket of itself; it means a message, I am sure it does. Where is your nut, Hildegarde?'
'Here,' was the reply, as she held it out.
'The time has come for cracking them,' said Leonore, and as she uttered the words the tapping in the corner of the room was repeated more loudly and rapidly, as if to say, 'Quite right, quite right.'
Then it suddenly stopped.
'Here goes,' said Hildegarde, cracking her nut as she spoke, and the two pair of eyes peered eagerly into the shell. There lay a neat little roll of tiny blue ribbon. Hildegarde drew it out. It was only an inch or two in length, but on it were clearly printed six words:—
Tap, tiny hammer, till you find.
But where was the tiny hammer? This question did not trouble the children for long. Without speaking, Leonore cracked her nut, disclosing to view, as they expected, a 'tiny hammer' indeed—so tiny that even the little girls' small fingers had difficulty in holding it firmly.
'How can I tap with it?', she was on the point of saying to Hildegarde, when, as she gazed, she saw the little hammer stretch itself out till it grew to an inch or two in length, the silver head increasing also in proportion, so that it was now much easier to grasp it.
'How convenient it would be,' said Hildegarde, 'if we could pack up luggage in the way things are packed into our nuts; but let us be quick, Leonore. I wonder where we should begin tapping.'
'In the corner where we heard the other tapping, of course,' said Leonore. But this did not prove to be the right spot. There was no reply to their summons, and some patience and perseverance were required to prevent their yielding to disappointment.
They had no reason, however, for distrusting their fairy friend, and a new idea struck Hildegarde.
'Leonore,' she exclaimed, 'perhaps we are meant to tap on the wall itself, behind the silk hangings. See, if I hold them back carefully, you can creep in and tap right into the corner.'
No sooner said than done, and this time not in vain. With almost the first blow of the little hammer, a small door in the wall opened inwards, and before them the children saw the first steps of a narrow spiral staircase winding upwards. They fearlessly entered, the little door closing behind them, and began to ascend the steps. It was not dark, for slits in the wall let in from time to time tiny shafts of light; nor was it cold, though where the warmth came from they could not tell.
'To think,' said Hildegarde, 'of there being a secret staircase that nobody knows of, for I am sure no one does know of it. But oh, Leonore, how very high we seem to be going'; for though they had been mounting for some minutes, there was no sign of the staircase coming to an end.
This time it was Leonore who encouraged her friend.
'Hush!' she said, 'I hear something; it is the sound of the spinning-wheel, Hildegarde; I believe we shall see our fairy in a second now.'
She was right. They found themselves on a little landing, the entrance to which was screened by blue silk hangings, just like those in their room below, and as they stood, uncertain what to do next, the curtains were drawn apart, revealing the prettiest picture they had ever seen; for there sat the spinning-wheel fairy, busy at work as usual, but the thread she was spinning was neither flax nor wool, nor even silk. What it was the children could not tell, unless, as they said afterwards to themselves, it was made of rainbows. Fine as it was, it glittered and shone, seeming of every colour in turn, sparkling against the pure white robe of the fairy spinner. For a moment or two she did not speak to them, and they stood silent in admiration.
Then she stopped and greeted them with a smile. 'I had not forgotten you, you see,' were her first words. 'I have been spinning for you all to-day.'
'Are you going to take us somewhere?' asked Hildegarde; 'is the thread to make ladders of again?' and she touched it gently as she spoke.
The fairy shook her head.
'No,' she replied, 'guess once more.'
'I had thought,' said Leonore, 'that our next treat would perhaps have to do with the sea. We have been down in the ground with the gnomes, and up in the sky with the air-fairies, and we don't want to go into fire-land, but we should like to hear about mermaids and sea-fairies.'
'I could not show you the secrets of the ocean,' said the fairy gravely; 'that is not in my power. It has its own voice, and only those who live on it, or by it, for generations can understand its mystery. True, it is one of the border countries between your world and Fairyland, but your little feet are not prepared for travelling there.'
The two children listened in silence, with a look of disappointment on their faces.
'We have read such lovely stories,' said Hildegarde, 'about the palaces down in the sea.'
'Stories,' repeated the fairy. 'Ah, well, how would you like to hear a story, instead of paying another visit?'
'We should like it very much indeed,' they said together. 'It is so cold and snowy outside, we would rather stay with you, if you will tell us stories, dear fairy,' 'But first,' continued Hildegarde, 'would you mind telling us where we are?' and she glanced round at the pretty little room in which they found themselves. It was like a tent, all draped in blue silk, of the same shade as the hangings of their room below, but the wreaths embroidered upon it were of white lilies instead of rosebuds. 'Are we up on the roof of the Castle, or where?'
'Never mind where you are,' the fairy replied; 'is it not enough for you to know that you are with me? But something I will explain to you. This thread,' and she touched it as she spoke, 'is spun from gossamer which has come from a long way off. I fetched it myself for you from Fairy-tale-land. Sit down beside me while I pass it through your fingers. Hold it very gently, for a rough touch would destroy it, and while I tell you my story close your eyes. The thread has the power of causing pictures to pass before you of all that I relate.'
'That will be beautiful,' exclaimed the children. 'Quite as nice as travelling there ourselves, and much cosier,' and they both settled themselves on a soft white fleecy rug at the fairy's feet, while she carefully caused the rainbow thread to pass through their hands.
And in a moment or two she began her tale.
'You have asked for a story of the sea,' she said. 'There are many such—many, many—but some too sad for my little girls to hear—sad, that is to say, for those who are not yet able to understand the whole of the mystery of the great ocean. So I have chosen one which, though partly sad, is happy too.'
'Thank you,' murmured the children dreamily, for their eyes were already shut, and with these first words of the fairy there began to steal over them the feeling of the sea, though scarcely yet a picture. But they felt or saw the gleaming of the water, the rippling of the little waves on the shore, the far-off boom of the greater ones as they dashed against some rocky cliffs; nay, more, the very fragrance of the sea seemed to steal upon them as the magic thread passed slowly through their little fingers.
'Long, long ago,' continued the fairy, 'down below in one of the most beautiful parts of the ocean world, there lived a race of sea folk. Their lives are much longer, as I daresay you have heard, than those of dwellers in your earth-country, so that the youngest of those I am telling you of counted her age by scores of years, where you count by one, and yet, compared to many of her companions, she seemed still quite a child. Until now, childish things had been enough for her. Day after day brought its own delights; playing about among the sea-caves; swimming races with her brothers and sisters; adorning their home with rare sea-flowers and wonderful shells, to get which they thought nothing of journeying hundreds of miles; these and such-like pastimes were enough for the little sea-maiden. She had even, so far, no wish to rise to the surface and look out beyond the ocean borders; it would frighten her she said, or maybe she would see something sad, and she had no mind to be frightened or saddened, she would say laughingly, as she swam off, on some new game of play, heedless of her elders' reminders that it was time, even for a mermaid, to begin to take life more seriously. But at last a time came, even to this thoughtless little sea-maiden, when she began to think. It was partly the doing of one of the most aged of her race, one to whom all looked for counsel and advice, one who knew much more than even her own people suspected, and whose heart was full of love for all living things.
'"My child," she said one day to Emerald, for such was the name of that little sea-maiden; "my child, does it never strike you that you cannot always be young? A day will come when you will be old like me, and dull and dreary would my life be now if I had no stores of the past to look back upon; if I had learnt nothing but to amuse myself, without thought for the future."
'Emerald looked up at her with a smile.
'"But that time is still far off," she said, "and I am so content with the present. It is all so bright and happy. I want nothing else. When I feel myself beginning to get tired of fun and play, I will come to you kind grand-dame, and you shall teach me some of your knowledge, of the worlds outside ours, and of the beings that live in them."
'"When that day comes," said the ancient sea-lady, "I shall be no longer here, and, after all, knowledge is not the greatest thing. I would fain see your heart enlarged by wider sympathy, my little one; even if some sadness and sorrow come with it," but the last few words she murmured so low that Emerald did not hear them.
'"What are the memories of the past that make you happy to remember now?" said Emerald, suddenly, for something in her old friend's words had touched her, in a way she had never felt before.
'"They are many," was the reply, "some you could not understand; others you might already learn for yourself. I love to think of the services to others I have, in my time, been allowed to render. More than once it has been my happiness to save the lives of dwellers on the land, human beings, as they are called. I have saved them when they were drowning and carried them in safety to their own shores, little as they knew that it was my doing, or that the friendly wave which floated them out of danger was in reality the arm of a mermaid. I have sung sweet songs and lullabies to the suffering and weary in the great ships that pass above us, or even, sometimes, to the fishermen's children in their humble homes on our borders, soothing them into life-giving sleep, though they thought my song was but the gentle wailing of the wind. Such services as these, Emerald, you might soon take your share of; for like all our race you have a lovely voice, and our gift of song should ever be used for good, if our hearts are true, and not to lure human beings to destruction. For after all they are our brothers and sisters."
'Emerald thanked her gently as she swam away, and the words she had heard took root in her merry little heart. Especially did she like the idea of using her beautiful voice to please or benefit others—those strange dwellers on the land, whom she had often heard about, though not till now with any wish to see or know them for herself. They were to be pitied, she had been told, for life was hard upon them; toil and pain and weariness, such as her race knew nought of, seemed to be their common lot. And among the best of her own people she knew, too, that it was accounted a good deed to minister to them. So from that time Emerald began to pay more attention when she heard her friends or companions talking together, as often happened, of their excursions to the upper world and of what they saw there.
'"Some day," she said to one of her older sisters, "some day I should like to go with you when you swim up to the surface, or when you sit among the rocks and caves on the shore, watching the ships pass, and hearing the talk of these human beings in the little boats, which you say they love to sail in when the weather is calm."
'Her companions looked at her in surprise.
'"Why, Emerald," said one of them, "you have always been content, and more than content, to frolic and play in our own beautiful world. I think you would do better to stay there; the weather is not always bright and calm up above, and there are sad sights and sounds, such as you have no idea of."
'But the little mermaid persisted.
'"All the same," she replied, "I should like to see and hear for myself. I am growing older now, and new thoughts come when one ceases to be a child."
'Some time passed, however, before she had any opportunity of following the counsel of her aged friend. There were great doings just then in the sea-country, for the daughter of the king was to wed with the son of another great ocean sovereign far away on the other side of the world, and the only talk that went on was of festivity and rejoicing, and in this Emerald was ready enough to take her share. One day, however, when she was amusing herself as usual, she came upon a group of her friends who were consulting together earnestly about some matter of importance.
'"What are you all talking about?" she asked.
'"Nothing that you can help in," was the reply, "for you know nought of such matters. Our princess has expressed a wish that among her wedding gifts should be something from the upper world. She is tired of all our ocean treasures, and would fain have something rarer and more uncommon."
'"What sort of thing?" asked Emerald curiously.
'"Nay," they answered, "that remains to be seen. There are not many things within our power to get, as we dare not linger long on dry land, nor many things that would preserve their earthly beauty, if brought down here to our sea home. The flowers, for instance, are such poor frail things; they would wither into nothing at once. It is a serious matter, and we are arranging that the cleverest and most experienced of us should be entrusted with the matter."
'Emerald clasped her hands in appeal. "Oh, I pray you," she said, "let me be one of those whom you send. True, I have never been up to the surface before, but I am quick and agile, as you know, and young like the princess herself. I am sure I could find something that would please her, if you will but let me go too."
'The elder ones smiled at her, but she was a sort of spoilt child among them, and any request of hers was rarely refused. So almost to her surprise her wish was granted, and the very next day the little party set forth on their voyage upwards.
'It was somewhat toilsome work for Emerald, unaccustomed as she was to ascending to any distance, and when at last they reached the surface, she was half exhausted, and thankful to rest a little with her companions on a small islet, not far from the shore.
'After a short while, when they felt refreshed, the little party of mermaids separated, agreeing to meet again at the same place, before the sun should set.
'"But we cannot tarry here long," said the eldest, "so do not let us wait for each other more than a short time"; for it was scarcely safe to show themselves much so near the shore, for among the human beings on the land there were, as the sea-folk well knew, cruel and mischievous ones, as well as kind and gentle.
'The eldest sister wished to take Emerald with her, as the child was so unaccustomed to the strange land, but Emerald begged to be allowed to stay by herself.
'"I shall be very cautious," she said, "and if you do not find me here on your return, you may be pretty sure that I shall have gone home already. I have a strong belief that, if you trust me, I shall find something that will delight the princess as our wedding gift."
'So the others swam away, leaving Emerald alone. She remained on the rocks for a little while gazing around her, then taking courage, she dived into the water again, and swam straight to the shore.
'The coast at this part was very pretty, green lawns, bordered by graceful trees, sloped down almost close to the water's edge, and on rising ground, a little inland, Emerald perceived the white walls of a beautiful house. "A palace"—she called it to herself, for in the sea country their king and his court lived in a shining dwelling, adorned with shells and coral, and other ocean treasures; while the rest of his people made their homes in the deep sea caves.
'She nestled into a shady corner, sheltered by some drooping trees and flowering shrubs, finding pleasure and amusement enough in gazing at the pretty scene around her,—"though I wish," she said to herself, "I could see some of these wonderful human beings that the others talk so much about." And after a time, she began to ask herself how and where she was to seek for the treasure she had felt so confident of finding for the princess?
'She was too timid to venture ashore altogether, so she sat there, idly dabbling in the clear water, waiting for something, she knew not what, which would put her in the way of redeeming her pledge. Suddenly, the sound of voices reached her ears. Down a sloping path, through the pleasure grounds, two children came running—one some yards in advance of the other, the second one being rather taller and bigger than the little creature in front whom he was playfully pretending to chase. On ran the tiny girl, shouting in glee at the idea of winning the race. She was scarcely more than a baby, and the boy behind her was also very young. As they drew yet nearer to Emerald, she saw that the first comer held in her hand something which sparkled in the sun—it was a necklet of finely wrought gold, which she had run off with in a frolic.
'With a cry of triumph she ran to the water's edge, at a spot where the bank dropped suddenly, and flung the ornament into the sea, close to where Emerald was concealed; then turning to call back to her brother, in defiance, her little foot slipped, and she herself in another moment disappeared from sight.
'With a cry of terror the elder child was about to throw himself after her, when the nurse in charge of them, whom the mermaid had not before noticed, darted forward and caught him by the arm, herself uttering shrieks of dismay and calls for help. Her cries almost immediately brought down two or three gardeners, one of whom, on hearing what had happened, pulled off his coat and flung himself into the water. He struck out bravely, for he was a good swimmer, and felt no doubt of rescuing the child, knowing the exact spot where she had fallen in; but to his surprise, clear and almost shallow though the water was, the little creature was nowhere to be seen. She had utterly disappeared!'
CHAPTER XII - 'THE UNSELFISH MERMAID' (continued)
What then?—the saddest things are sweet.
The Boy Musician.
The spinning-wheel fairy stopped for a moment.
'Oh, go on, go on, please,' said the two little girls. 'It is so interesting, and it has been just as you said; we have seen the pictures of it all gliding before us, as the thread passed through our fingers. Do go on, dear fairy; it must be that Emerald had caught the little girl.'
'Yes,' the fairy continued, 'so it was. Small wonder that her rescuer could not find the child. She was lying safe, though as yet unconscious, in the mermaid's arms, the golden chain thrown round Emerald's own neck, for she had found it when she stooped to take up the baby. As yet the sea-maiden scarcely realised what she had done, in yielding to the impulse of hiding the child from her friends. And it was not till they had left the spot, in the vain hope that the little creature might have drifted farther down the coast, that Emerald dared to breathe freely, and think over what had happened. By this time her little "treasure-trove" had half opened her eyes, and murmured some baby words, for, after all, she had been but momentarily under the water. Emerald had no difficulty in soothing her, and in a minute or two the little girl sank into a sweet and natural slumber. Then, without giving herself time to think, her new nurse, drawing out a tiny phial, without which no mermaid is allowed to swim to the surface, poured out of it a few drops of a precious liquid, with which she anointed the baby's face and lips. This liquid has the magic power of enabling a human being to live under water without injury, and of restoring to life those on whose behalf all the science of the landsmen would be exerted in vain.
'"Now, my darling," she whispered to herself, "you are safe, and you belong to me. I can carry you down to our beautiful home, for it must be that you are meant for me, and the jewel, which your little hands flung before you, is the gift that I was to seek for our princess."
'And so saying, though casting cautious glances on all sides, she swam rapidly away till she reached the rocky islet where she had parted from her sisters. There, being well out of sight of the shore, she rested for a time. No one as yet but herself had reached the meeting-place, which Emerald by no means regretted. She wished to have the pride and pleasure of exhibiting her treasures down below to all the mermaids who were joining in the gift to the princess, when they assembled together to hear the result of the expedition. Possibly, too, at the very bottom of her heart there may have been hidden some little misgiving as to her right to carry away the child, and she may have dreaded her elder sisters' opinion as to this. As regarded the golden necklet, her conscience was quite at rest, for before leaving the shore she had placed there some of the rare shells and pearls which the sea-folk knew to be so highly valued on land, that they were ample payment for anything they might carry off with them from the upper country.
'Now, rapidly, she made her way homewards, seeking her own little bower at once, and there, on her couch, she laid the still sleeping child; then drawing from her own neck the beautiful chain, she sought about for the prettiest shell she could find, in which to lay it ready for the princess's acceptance.
'Before very long she heard the voices of her sisters and friends returning; she hastened out to meet them. Her eldest sister gave an exclamation of pleasure as soon as she caught sight of her.
'"Oh, Emerald," she cried, "I am so glad to see you. We couldn't help feeling a little anxious at not finding you on the rock; it seems you did not enjoy your visit to the surface, as you hastened back so soon."
'"That was not my reason for returning so quickly," said Emerald, with a smile. "I found what I sought"—"and more too," she added to herself in a low voice—"so there was no reason for delay. See, sisters, and all of you, what I have found. Could anything be prettier or rarer as a gift to our princess?"
'Her companions crowded round her eagerly, and all united in admiring and approving of the beautiful gold ornament.
'"And you shall have the full credit of having found it, little Emerald," they said; "but for you we should have been sadly discouraged."
'For they had returned either empty-handed, or at best bringing trifles, scarcely worth offering to the princess.
'The chain was carefully put away till the next day, when it was to be presented, and then the little crowd dispersed, which Emerald was glad of, as she was anxious to confide to her most trusted sister the secret of the living treasure which she had hidden in her bower.
'The elder mermaid looked at the sleeping child with startled eyes.
'"Emerald," she exclaimed, "you did not steal her surely?"
'"No, no," the little mermaid replied, "she fell almost into my arms—but for me she would have lost her life; she is mine, my very own, and I do not pity her people for losing her; they should have taken more care of the little darling."
'Just then the baby awoke and gazed about her in surprise. Then her little face puckered up for a cry at the strangeness of everything she saw, but before she had time to utter it Emerald caught her in her arms.
'"My sweet," she said, and the child looked up at once at the sound of the lovely voice, "my sweet, you must not cry, I have so many pretty things to show you. You shall be quite safe and happy here with us in the beautiful sea."
'The little girl looked up at her, and a smile gradually broke over her face.
'"Show me the pretty things," she said, "and then, then you will take me home, kind lady, won't you? home to brother and nurse and mamma—they will cry if baby doesn't come soon."
'Her sister glanced at Emerald as she heard these words, but the younger mermaid would not see the glance.
'"Baby shall see all the beautiful things now at once," she replied; "she shall catch the little fishes in her hands as they swim past, and gather the pretty sea-flowers and pick up shells, such as you have never seen. And I will sing songs to baby, such pretty ones." The little creature smiled again.
'"Baby would like that," she whispered. "Baby will take the pretty flowers and shells home to show brother and nurse."
'"Yes, yes," said Emerald hastily, "baby is going to be such a happy little girl," and then, taking her hand, she led her away to the sea-gardens round the palace, amusing her so well, and singing to her when she grew tired, that at first it seemed as if all thought of her home and former life would soon fade from her infant memory.
'And thus things went on for some little time. While the child was happy and merry, she seldom spoke of returning to the upper world; but if anything crossed her baby wishes, or at night when she grew sleepy, her cry was sure to be again, "Oh please, kind lady, take me home."
'Then Emerald would rock her in her arms, and sing to her the wonderful songs of the mermaidens, so strange and lovely that the child seemed bewitched by them, and her little face would lose all look of distress. And when this happened, Emerald's spirits rose again and she would murmur to herself, "My darling is growing quite happy and contented. I shall never need to part with her. The upper world would seem coarse and clumsy to her now."
'The young mermaid's own character seemed quite changed by the charge of the tiny foundling. Instead of being the first to propose new games of play, or even mischief, she now grudged every moment that separated her from the little human girl, and her companions often rallied her about her devotion to her "new toy," as they called it.
'"You will get tired of her after a while," they said, laughing. "You are too young to make yourself into such a mother-slave to her. Why, no one would know you for the same maiden!"
'But Emerald only smiled in return.
'"I shall never get tired of her," she said; "she is my own treasure-trove."
'Nevertheless, during all this time some misgiving, low down in her heart or conscience, made her keep away from the aged sea-lady, who had often in time past reproved her for her thoughtlessness. Why she did so she excused to herself by saying she had no leisure now for anything but care for the little girl.
"And the great-grandmother could not but be pleased if she knew how my time is spent," she would say to herself; "she was always the one to tell me to be of use to others and to be more sedate, and I am certainly now following her counsel." Yet notwithstanding these assurances to herself, she took care that in their playing and gambolling she and the baby should keep away from the cave where dwelt the aged grand-dame.
'So time went on. It passes perhaps more quickly, or its passing is less noticed, down in the under-world of the ocean, than with the dwellers on the land. It seemed to Emerald but a few days since the coming of her little pet, when her happy belief that all was right received a sudden blow. Baby was growing big now, for nearly as much of her life had by this time been spent in the sea as on land, and Emerald had fondly hoped that all remembrance of her own home had faded from the child's mind. The princess arrived one day on a visit to her parents. Emerald had always been a favourite of hers, and meeting her playing in the palace gardens with her little charge, she stopped to speak to them.
'"Ah, Emerald," she said, "so this is the pretty child you saved? I have heard of her. How well you have treasured her, and I, too, have been careful of my treasure." She touched the long golden chain hanging round her neck as she spoke, and playfully tossed it towards the little girl, who caught it, laughing. But as she looked more closely at the golden links in her fingers, a change came over her little face; it grew troubled, and Emerald, fearful lest she should begin to cry, made some excuse to the princess and carried her away, talking merrily as they went. But the child's face did not clear.
'"Emerald," she said, for by this time she could talk quite perfectly, "something has come back to me. I remember that pretty chain. I threw it into the water, when brother was running after me. Oh, Emerald, I want to go home to him and the others. You may come too, dear Emerald, but I must go home."
'Her words sent a thrill of fear through the heart of her young sea-mother.
'"Oh, baby darling," she said, "what has put such fancies in your little head? Are you not happy with Emerald and all your pretty toys and games? Emerald cannot go away from her own country, and she would be too miserable without you. And you—you would cry sadly at night, if she was not there to sing you to sleep."
'And the trouble on the mermaiden's face, as she spoke thus, grieved the little girl, for she had a tender heart. She gently stroked Emerald's cheeks, and said no more for the time. But from that moment, ever and anon, there crept into her soft blue eyes the strange, sad, far-away look which told that the charm was broken. She was pining for her own race and her own land.
'Emerald tried not to see it, tried to persuade herself that the child would be miserable away from the sea country, that it would be cruel to the little creature herself to restore her to her friends. Gradually, however, it became impossible to go on deceiving herself. Baby grew thin and pale—every one noticed it. Though gentle and tender as ever to her mermaid nurse, it was rarely now that her voice was heard in laughter or glee; and her smiles were even sadder than the wistfulness in her face.
'But all this time, though Emerald knew it not, her aged friend had kept watch over her and her new experience; and one day there came a message, bidding her go to the grand-dame's cave, as she had something to say to her. This was a summons no young mermaid would have dared to disobey, and so, holding the little girl as usual by the hand, she made her way thither.
'Her old friend looked at her earnestly.
'"It is long since you have been to see me, my child," she said, "and this is your little charge."
'She drew the little girl towards her as she spoke, and kissed her.
'"Are you happy with Emerald?" she asked her gently. The child's pale face flushed deeply.
'"Emerald is very good to me," she replied, "and sometimes I am very happy, but I have a pain here," and she touched her heart. "I want to go home, I want to see brother and mamma and nurse again; until I do, the pain won't go away."
'"It will get better soon, I think," said the sea lady, and then she drew the child's attention to a charming rockery in one corner of her cave, so that she could speak to Emerald without being heard.
'"You have known this, I fear," she began. "You are not doing right, my child, and your own heart must tell you so."
'Emerald hung her head.
'"You told me," she said, "you told me not to live for myself, but for the service of others—have I not been doing so?"
'"You did well," was the reply, "in saving the child's life, and since then you might have had other chances of the same kind, but you have never returned to the upper world to seek for them. You have yielded to the pleasure to yourself, of giving all your time to her, forgetting or refusing to believe that you have no right to her. She is neither of our race nor blood—think of the bitter tears that must have been shed for her by her own people. See now—now that she is growing older and nature is speaking to her—the suffering that is beginning for herself. No child's face should look as hers does."
'It was enough. Emerald threw herself at her old friend's feet in deepest repentance.
'"It is all true," she cried; "I see it now, and indeed I knew it before, but I would not let myself think of it. I will take baby back to her home—now, at once, before my courage fails me."
'And the little girl, hearing the distress in her dear Emerald's voice, ran forward.
'"What is it," she said; "is the lady angry with you?"
'"No, no," was the reply, "I am very pleased with Emerald; and now, my little girl, the pain at your heart will go. Emerald is going to take you home, home to your mother and your brother, and you will be very happy."
'"But Emerald will come too?" asked the little girl; for though her face grew rosy with delight, her heart misgave her for her mermaid friend.
'Emerald drew her towards her and kissed her fondly.
'"My darling," she whispered, "I will carry you home myself, but I could not stay in your country."
'"And shall I never see you again, then?" asked the little girl sadly.
'"I cannot say," Emerald replied; "but sometimes, if I may, I will come to the edge of the beautiful garden where is your home, and sing softly, so that you will know I am there. But this must be a secret between you and me. And now," she went on, "there is no time to lose; clasp your arms tightly round my neck, my little one, for we have a long way to go."
'Their old friend smiled in approval.
'"Sing to her, my child," she murmured, "it will lull her to sleep and save her the pain of parting from you. The sun is still high in the heavens, it will be still full daylight when you reach the upper world. Lay her on the grass near the spot where you found her and kiss her on the brow. But do not linger yourself; she will wake to full remembrance of her life before she came to you, and all will be well."'
With these words the spinning-wheel fairy's voice ceased, but Hildegarde and Leonore did not move or speak for some moments. Then they raised their heads and gazed at their kind friend. 'Oh, thank you, thank you,' they said, 'for the story and the pictures; we couldn't look up at first, for we saw something more than you had told us. Almost the loveliest pictures of all came at the end.'
'There was one,' said Hildegarde, 'of the baby running to her mother in the garden, and the little brother came too, and they knew her again in a moment, though she had been so long away—oh, it was beautiful!'
'And,' added Leonore, 'the last of all nearly made me cry. The baby had grown quite big and was standing near the water's edge. Emerald had been singing to her, and just for one moment we saw her face—so sad, but so sweet. Oh, how I should love to have a mermaid friend.'
But even as she spoke, her voice grew drowsy. She knew the spinning-wheel fairy was smiling at her and Hildegarde, and they both felt her gently releasing the rainbow thread from their fingers, but after that they knew no more, till a sound of tapping woke them up.
It was Amalia, knocking at the door of the blue-silk room; and when they opened their eyes, there they were, lying on the soft fleecy rug in front of the fire, as if they had never moved the whole afternoon.
'What a nice little sleep you have had, young ladies,' said the maid; 'and now coffee is waiting in the drawing-room, and the Baroness has sent me to fetch you. There is good news for you, too; the snow has ceased falling and the wind has gone down. Old Rudolph says we shall probably have nice clear frost now, and he is talking of getting the pond ready for you to skate.'
'It will be nice to be able to go out again,' said Hildegarde to Leonore with a smile, 'especially as we have no more nuts to crack.'
'Yes,' said Leonore with a sigh; 'but some day, Hildegarde, surely some day, the dear fairy will send for us again. Don't you think so?'
THE END
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