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Page 41
Now the House Surgeon was old in understanding, although he was young
in years; and he knew it was wiser sometimes to give in to the whims of
a tired, overwrought brain. He knew without being told--for Margaret
MacLean would never have told--how tired and hopelessly heart-sick and
mind-sick she was to-night. What he did not know, however, was how
pitifully lonely and starved her life had always been; and that this
was the hour for the full conscious reckoning of it.
She had often said, whimsically, "Those who are born with wooden
instead of golden spoons in their mouths had better learn very young to
keep them well scoured, or they'll find them getting so rough and
splintered that they can't possibly eat with them." She had followed
her own advice bravely, and kept happy; but now even the wooden spoon
had been taken from her.
The House Surgeon lifted her up and put her gently into the rocker,
while he sat down on the corner of the table, neighbor to the green
Devonshire bowl.
Perhaps Margaret MacLean was not to find bitterness, after all; perhaps
it would be his glad good fortune to keep it from her. It was
surprising the way he felt his misery dwindling, and instantly he
pulled up his courage--another hole.
"I think you said 'faeries,'" he suggested, seriously. "Why not
faeries?"
She nodded in equal seriousness. "Why not? They always come May Eve
to the lonely of heart; and even a hospital might have faeries once in
a generation. Only--only why couldn't they have taken me with the
children? It wasn't exactly fair to leave me behind, was it?"
Her lips managed to keep reasonably steady, but she was wishing all the
time that the House Surgeon would go and leave her free to be foolishly
childish and weak. She wanted to drop down beside Bridget's bed and
sob out her trouble.
But the House Surgeon had a very permanent look as he went on soberly
talking.
"Well, you see, they took the children first because they were all
ready. Probably, very probably, they are sending for you
later--special messenger. It's still some minutes before midnight; and
that's the time things like that happen. Isn't it?"
"Perhaps." A little amused smile crept into the corners of her mouth
while she rummaged about in some old memories for something she had
almost forgotten. "Perhaps"--she began again--"they will send the
Love-Talker."
"The what?"
"The Love-Talker. Old Cassie used to tell us about him, when I was an
'incurable.' He's a faery youth who comes on May Eve in the guise of
some well-appearing young man and beguiles a maid back with him into
faeryland. He's a very ardent wooer--so Cassie said--and there's no
maid living who can resist him."
"Wish I'd had a course with him," muttered the House Surgeon under his
breath. Then he gripped the table hard with both hands while the
spirit of mischief leaped, flagrant, into his eyes. "Would you go with
him--if he came?" he asked, intensely.
"If he came--if he came--" she repeated, dreamily. "How do I know what
I would do? It would all depend upon the way he wooed."
Unexpectedly the House Surgeon jumped to his feet, making a
considerable clatter.
"Hush! you'll waken the children."
"But they're not here," he reminded her.
"Yes, I know; but you might waken them, just the same."
Instead of answering, the House Surgeon stepped behind the rocker and
lifted her out of it bodily; then his hands closed over hers and he
lifted them to her eyes, thereby blind-folding them. "Now," he
commanded, "take two steps forward."
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