And sure enough from somewhere near by a small voice reached them, pitifully faint and thin:  “Hermy dear, come t’ me—­oh, Hermy dear!”

“She allus lays an’ calls like that lately when her poor hip’s worse ’n usual,” sighed Mrs. Bowker.  “And your gentleman friend—­would he like t’ see her too?”

“Thank you, I should,” answered Ravenslee in his soft, pleasant voice.

“Oh, Mrs. Bowker, this is Mr. Geoffrey,” said Hermione a trifle hurriedly, “he came with me to—­to—­”

“Be presented to the princess, if she will honour me,” he added.

“Ah!” said Mrs. Bowker, looking up at him with a faded smile, “Hazel told me you had a pretty voice, sir, an’ I guess I know what she meant.  She sets out on the stairs when she’s well enough an’ has often seen ye.”

“Hermy, dear, come t’ me—­oh, Hermy dear!” called the little voice.

“Yes, go in, my dear, you know y’ way, I guess,” sighed Mrs. Bowker, passing a small, worn hand across her faded eyes.  “There’s five dozen more collar-bands I must stitch an’ buttonhole t’night—­so go your ways, my dear.”  So saying, Mrs. Bowker went back to her labour, which was very hard labour indeed, while Hermione led the way into a tiny room, where, on a small, neat truckle-bed covered by a faded quilt, a small, pale child lay fading fast.  But at sight of her visitors, two big, brown eyes grew bigger yet, and her pale, thin little cheeks flushed eagerly.

“Oh, Hermy dear!” she cried, clasping frail hands, “oh, Hermy, you’ve brought him—­you’ve brought me our fairy prince at last!”

Now what was there in these childish words to cause Hermione’s eyes to droop so suddenly as she took the bottle from Ravenslee’s hand, or her rounded cheek to flush so painfully as she stooped to meet the child’s eager kiss, or, when she turned away to measure a dose of the medicine, to be such an unconscionable time over it?  Observing all of which, Ravenslee forthwith saluted the small invalid with a grave bow, battered hat gracefully flourished.

“It is truly an honour to meet you, princess!” said he, and lifting the child’s frail little hand, he touched it to his lips.  Thereafter, obeying the mute appeal of that hand, he seated himself upon the narrow bed, while Hermione, soft-voiced and tender, bent above the invalid, who, having obediently swallowed her medicine, leaned back on her pillow and smiled from one to the other.

“And now,” said she, drawing Hermione down at her other side and snuggling between, “now please let’s all tell some more fairy tale; an’ please, you begin, Hermy, just where you had t’ leave off last time.”

“Why, I—­I’m afraid I’ve forgotten, dear,” said Hermione, bending to smooth the child’s pillow.