“And yet, Princess, I’m sure we shall find it.”
“We? Oh, are you coming too, Prince?” cried the child joyfully.
“To be sure I am!” nodded Ravenslee.
“Oh, goody, I’m glad—so glad, ‘cause I know we shall find it now!”
“Why?”
“Well,” answered the child, looking at him with her big, wistful eyes, “‘cause you look like you could find it, somehow. You see, Prince, you’ve got grey eyes so brave an’ true—an’ you’re big an’ strong an’ could carry me an’ Hermy over the thorny places when we get very, very tired—couldn’t you?”
“I could!” answered Ravenslee almost grimly, “and I—surely will!”
“When we get there, Prince, I want first—a doll-carriage an’ a doll with lovely blue eyes that wink at you, an’ a big box of candy, an’ a new dress for my mumsey, an’ no more work, an’ I want lots an’ lots of flowers for my daddy ‘cause he loves flowers—oh, an’ I want my leg t’ be made well. What d’ you want, Hermy?”
“Well, dear, I want to—say good-by to my sewing-machine for ever and ever and ever!”
“Why, Hermy!” exclaimed the child, “last time you said you wanted some one who could give you your heart’s desire!”
“Perhaps that is my heart’s desire, little Hazel,” said Hermione, rising and taking up the medicine bottle.
“An’ what do you want, Prince?”
“I want a great deal,” answered Ravenslee, smiling down into the big, soft eyes. “I want some one who—is my heart’s desire now and for ever and ever. Good night, dear little Princess!”
“You’ll come again, Prince?” she pleaded, holding up her face to be kissed, “you’ll come again soon?”
“As soon as—Princess Nobody will bring me.”
“Good night, Hermy dear; you’ll bring our Prince again soon?”
“If you wish, dear,” said Hermione, stooping to kiss her in turn.
“Why, Hermy—what makes your cheeks so hot to-night?”
“Are they?” said Hermione, making pretence to test them with the back of her hand.
“Why, yes,” nodded the child, “an’ they look so red an’—”
“Of course you believe in fairies, don’t you, Princess?” enquired Ravenslee rather hurriedly.
“Oh, yes, Prince, I often see them in my dreams. They just wait till I’m asleep, an’ then they come an’ show themselves. Do you ever see any?”
“Well, your highness, I fancy I have lately, and when fairies are around, things are sure to happen; wishes get the habit of coming true. So, little Princess, just go on wishing and dreaming and—watch out!”
Then Ravenslee turned and followed Hermione out upon the dingy landing; but as he climbed the stair, there went with him the memory of a little face, very thin and pale, but radiant and all aglow with rapturous hope. Silently as they had come they mounted the stairs, until, reaching the topmost landing, they paused as by mutual consent.
“Poor little Hazel!” said Hermione very gently, “if only there were real fairies to spirit her away to where the air is sweet and pure and flowers grow for little hands to gather—the doctor told me it was her only chance.”
“Why, then of course she must have her chance!” said Ravenslee with a sleepy nod.
“But, Mr. Geoffrey—how?”
“Well—er—the fairies—you said something about fairies spiriting—”
“The fairies!” said Hermione a little bitterly, “I guess they are too busy over their own affairs to trouble about a poor, little, sick child; besides, what fairy could possibly live five minutes in—Mulligan’s?”
“Which leaves us,” said Ravenslee thoughtfully, “which leaves us the beautiful City of Perhaps. It is a wonderful thought, that!”
“But only a thought!” she sighed.
“Is it? Are you quite sure?”
“Well, isn’t it?” she questioned wistfully.
“No!” he answered gravely, “the City of Perhaps is very, very real.”
“What do you mean?”
Once again their hands touched in the shadow, but this time his fingers closed upon her hand, the hand that held the medicine bottle, drawing her nearer in the dimness of that dingy landing.
“I mean,” he answered, “that for every one of us there is a City of Perhaps waiting to open its gates to our coming, and I am sure we shall reach it sooner or later, all three of us—the Princess and you and I—yes, even I, when I have done something worth while. And then, Hermione, then—nothing shall keep me from—my heart’s delight—nothing, Hermione!” As he ended, she felt an arm about her in the dimness; an arm fierce and strong that gripped and swept her close—then, as suddenly, loosed her. For a breathless moment he stood with head bowed in seeming humility, then, stooping, he crushed her hand, medicine bottle and all, to lips that burned with anything but humility.
“Good night, dear Princess Nobody!” he said, and watched her turn away, nor moved until the door had closed upon her. That night he smoked many pipes, weaving him fancies of the beautiful City of Perhaps, and dreamed dreams of what might be, and his eyes glowed bright and wide, and his mouth grew alternately grim and tender. And, that night, long after he lay asleep, Hermione’s golden head was bowed above her work, but, more than once
