But whether the Baron, in naming such a distant spot for the rendezvous, was in hope she might fail him, and so relieve him after all of his undertaking, cannot be said; though it might have been strongly suspected from his manner that he had no great zest for the responsibility of escorting her.
But he little knew the firmness of the young woman he had to deal with.She was one of those soft natures whose power of adhesiveness to an acquired idea seems to be one of the special attributes of that softness.To go to a ball with this mysterious personage of romance was her ardent desire and aim; and none the less in that she trembled with fear and excitement at her position in so aiming.She felt the deepest awe, tenderness, and humility towards the Baron of the strange name; and yet she was prepared to stick to her point.
Thus it was that the afternoon of the eventful day found Margery trudging her way up the slopes from the vale to the place of appointment.She walked to the music of innumerable birds, which increased as she drew away from the open meads towards the groves.
She had overcome all difficulties.After thinking out the question of telling or not telling her father, she had decided that to tell him was to be forbidden to go.Her contrivance therefore was this:
to leave home this evening on a visit to her invalid grandmother, who lived not far from the Baron's house; but not to arrive at her grandmother's till breakfast-time next morning.Who would suspect an intercalated experience of twelve hours with the Baron at a ball?
That this piece of deception was indefensible she afterwards owned readily enough; but she did not stop to think of it then.
It was sunset within Chillington Wood by the time she reached Three-Walks-End--the converging point of radiating trackways, now floored with a carpet of matted grass, which had never known other scythes than the teeth of rabbits and hares.The twitter overhead had ceased, except from a few braver and larger birds, including the cuckoo, who did not fear night at this pleasant time of year.Nobody seemed to be on the spot when she first drew near, but no sooner did Margery stand at the intersection of the roads than a slight crashing became audible, and her patron appeared.He was so transfigured in dress that she scarcely knew him.Under a light great-coat, which was flung open, instead of his ordinary clothes he wore a suit of thin black cloth, an open waistcoat with a frill all down his shirt-front, a white tie, shining boots, no thicker than a glove, a coat that made him look like a bird, and a hat that seemed as if it would open and shut like an accordion.
'I am dressed for the ball--nothing worse,' he said, drily smiling.
'So will you be soon.'
'Why did you choose this place for our meeting, sir?' she asked, looking around and acquiring confidence.
'Why did I choose it? Well, because in riding past one day Iobserved a large hollow tree close by here, and it occurred to me when I was last with you that this would be useful for our purpose.
Have you told your father?'
'I have not yet told him, sir.'
'That's very bad of you, Margery.How have you arranged it, then?'
She briefly related her plan, on which he made no comment, but, taking her by the hand as if she were a little child, he led her through the undergrowth to a spot where the trees were older, and standing at wider distances.Among them was the tree he had spoken of--an elm; huge, hollow, distorted, and headless, with a rift in its side.
'Now go inside,' he said, 'before it gets any darker.You will find there everything you want.At any rate, if you do not you must do without it.I'll keep watch; and don't be longer than you can help to be.'
'What am I to do, sir?' asked the puzzled maiden.
'Go inside, and you will see.When you are ready wave your handkerchief at that hole.'
She stooped into the opening.The cavity within the tree formed a lofty circular apartment, four or five feet in diameter, to which daylight entered at the top, and also through a round hole about six feet from the ground, marking the spot at which a limb had been amputated in the tree's prime.The decayed wood of cinnamon-brown, forming the inner surface of the tree, and the warm evening glow, reflected in at the top, suffused the cavity with a faint mellow radiance.
But Margery had hardly given herself time to heed these things.Her eye had been caught by objects of quite another quality.A large white oblong paper box lay against the inside of the tree; over it, on a splinter, hung a small oval looking-glass.
Margery seized the idea in a moment.She pressed through the rift into the tree, lifted the cover of the box, and, behold, there was disclosed within a lovely white apparition in a somewhat flattened state.It was the ball-dress.
This marvel of art was, briefly, a sort of heavenly cobweb.It was a gossamer texture of precious manufacture, artistically festooned in a dozen flounces or more.
Margery lifted it, and could hardly refrain from kissing it.Had any one told her before this moment that such a dress could exist, she would have said, 'No; it's impossible!' She drew back, went forward, flushed, laughed, raised her hands.To say that the maker of that dress had been an individual of talent was simply understatement: he was a genius, and she sunned herself in the rays of his creation.
She then remembered that her friend without had told her to make haste, and she spasmodically proceeded to array herself.In removing the dress she found satin slippers, gloves, a handkerchief nearly all lace, a fan, and even flowers for the hair.'O, how could he think of it!' she said, clasping her hands and almost crying with agitation.'And the glass--how good of him!'
