“Imp,” I said, “that’s really a great idea.”
“I wish I’d brought my trusty sword,” he sighed, searching about for something to supply its place; “I left it under my pillow, you know.”
Very soon, however, he had procured two sticks, somewhat thin and wobbly, yet which, by the magic of imagination, became transformed into formidable, two-edged swords, with one of which he armed me, the other he flourished above his head.
“Forward, gallant knights!” he cried; “the breach! the breach! On! on! St. George, for Merrie England!” With the words he clambered upon the wall and disappeared upon the other side.
For a moment I hesitated, and then, inspired by the music and the thought of Lisbeth, I followed suit. It was all very mad, of course, but who cared for sanity on such a night - certainly not I.
“Careful now, Imp!” I cautioned; “if any one should see us they’ll take us for thieves, or lunatics, beyond a doubt.”
We found ourselves in an enclosed garden with a walk which led between rows of fruit trees. Following this, it brought us out upon a broad stretch of lawn, with here and there a great tree, and beyond, the gleaming windows of the house. Filled with the spirit of adventure, we approached, keeping in the shadow as much as possible, until we could see figures that strolled to and fro upon the terrace or promenaded the walks below.
The excitement of dodging our way among so many people was intense; time and again we were only saved from detection by more than one wandering couple, owing to the fact that all their attention was centred in themselves. For instance, we were skirmishing round a clump of laurels, to gain the shadow of the terrace, when we almost ran into the arms of a pair; but they didn’t see us for the very good reason that she was staring at the moon, and he at her.
“So sweet of you, Archibald!” she was saying.
“What did she call him ‘bald for, Uncle Dick?” inquired the Imp in a loud stage-whisper, as I dragged him down behind the laurels. ‘He’s not a bit bald, you know! An’ I say, Uncle Dick, did you see his arm, it was round - “
“Yes - yes!” I nodded.
“Just like Peter’s, you know.”
“Yes - yes, I saw.”
“I wonder why she called him - “
“Hush!” I broke in, “his name is Archibald, I suppose.”
“Well, I hope when I grow up nobody will ever call me - “
“Hush!” I said again, “not a word - there’s your Auntie Lisbeth! She was, indeed, standing upon the terrace, within a yard of our hiding-place, and beside her was Mr. Selwyn.
“Uncle Dick,” whispered the irrepressible Imp, “do you think if we watch long enough that Mr. Selwyn will put his arm round - “
“Shut up!” I whispered savagely. Lisbeth was clad in a long, trailing gown of dove-coloured silk - one of those close-fitting garments that make the uninitiated, such as myself, wonder how they are ever got on. Also, she wore a shawl, which I was sorry for, because I have always been an admirer of beautiful things, and Lisbeth’s neck and shoulders are glorious. Mr. Selwyn stood beside her with a plate of ice cream in his hand, which he handed to her, and they sat down. As I watched her and noticed her weary, bored air, and how wistfully she gazed up at the silver disc of the moon, I experienced a feeling of decided satisfaction.
“Yes,” said Lisbeth, toying absently with the ice cream, “he painted Dorothy’s face with stripes of red and green enamel, and goodness only knows how we can ever get it all off!”
Mr. Selwyn was duly shocked and murmured something about ‘the efficacy of turpentine’ in such an emergency.
“Of course, I had to punish him,” continued Lisbeth, “so I sent him to bed immediately after tea, and never went to say good-night, or tuck him up as I usually do, and it has been worrying me all the evening.”
Mr. Selwyn was sure that he was all right, and positively certain that at this moment he was wrapped in balmy slumber. Despite my warning grasp, the Imp chuckled, but we were saved by the band striking up. Mr. Selwyn rose, giving his arm to Lisbeth, and they re-entered the ball-room. One by one the other couples followed suit until the long terrace was deserted. Now, upon Lisbeth’s deserted chair, showing wonderfully pink in the soft glow of the Chinese lanterns, was the ice cream.
“Uncle Dick,” said the Imp in his thoughtful way, “I think I’ll be a bandit for a bit.”
“Anything you like,” I answered rashly, “so long as we get away while we can.”
“All right,” he whispered, “I won’t be a minute,” and before I could stop him he had scrambled down the steps and fallen to upon the ice cream.
The wonderful celerity with which the Imp wolfed down that ice cream was positively awe-inspiring. In less time almost than it takes to tell the plate was empty. Yet scarcely had he swallowed the last mouthful when he heard Mr. Selwyn’s voice close by. In his haste the Imp dropped his cap, a glaring affair of red and white, and before he could recover it Lisbeth reappeared, followed by Mr. Selwyn.
- “It certainly is more pleasant out here!” he was saying.
Lisbeth came straight towards the cap-it was a moral impossibility that she could fail to see it - yet she sank into her chair without word or sign. Mr. Selwyn, on the contrary, stood with the empty ice plate in his hand, staring at it in wide-eyed astonishment.
“It’s gone!” he exclaimed.
“Oh!” said Lisbeth.
“Most extraordinary!” Said Mr. Selwyn, fixing his monocle and staring harder than ever; “I wonder where it can have got to?”
“Perhaps it melted!” Lisbeth suggested, “and I should so have loved an ice!” she sighed.
“Then, of course, I’ll get you another, with pleasure,” he said and hurried off, eyeing the plate dubiously as he went.
No sooner was Lisbeth alone than she kicked aside the train of her dress and picked up the tell-tale cap.
“Imp!” she whispered, rising to her feet, “Imp, come here at once, sir!” There was a moment’s breathless pause, and then the Imp squirmed himself into view.
“Hallo, Auntie Lisbeth!” he said, with a cheerfulness wholly assumed.
“Oh!” she cried, distressfully, “whatever does this mean; what are you doing here? Oh, you naughty boy!”
“Lisbeth,” I said, as I rose in my turn and confronted her, “Do not blame the child - the fault is mine - let me explain; by means of a ladder - “
“Not here,” she whispered, glancing nervously towards the ball-room.
“Then come where I can.”
“Impossible!”
“Not at all; you have only to descend these steps and we can talk undisturbed.”
“Ridiculous!” she said, stooping to replace the Imp’s cap; but being thus temptingly within reach, she was next moment beside us in the shadows.
“Dick, how could you, how dared you?”
“You see, I had to explain,” I answered very humbly; “I really couldn’t allow this poor child to bear the blame of my fault - “
“I’m not a ‘poor child,’ Uncle Dick,” expostulated the Imp; “I’m a gallant knight and - “
” - The blame of my fault, Lisbeth,” I continued, “I alone must face your just resentment, for - “
“Hush!” she whispered, glancing hastily about.
” - For, by means of a ladder, Lisbeth, a common or garden ladder - “
“Oh, do be quiet!” she said, and laid her hand upon my lips, which I immediately imprisoned there, but for a moment only; the next it was snatched away as there came the unmistakable sound of some one approaching.
“Come along, Auntie Lisbeth,” whispered the Imp, “fear not, we’ll rescue you.”
Oh! surely there was magic in the air to-night; for, with a swift, dexterous movement, Lisbeth had swept her long train across her arm, and we were running hand in hand, all three of us, running across lawns and down winding paths between yew hedges, sometimes so close together that I could feel a tress of her fragrant hair brushing my face with a touch almost like a caress. Surely, surely, there was magic in the air to-night!