With the resumption of motion she slept again, and knew no more till he touched her hand and said, 'Our journey is done--we are in Chillington Wood.'
It was almost daylight.Margery scarcely knew herself to be awake till she was out of the carriage and standing beside the Baron, who, having told the coachman to drive on to a certain point indicated, turned to her.
'Now,' he said, smiling, 'run across to the hollow tree; you know where it is.I'll wait as before, while you perform the reverse operation to that you did last night.' She took no heed of the path now, nor regarded whether her pretty slippers became scratched by the brambles or no.A walk of a few steps brought her to the particular tree which she had left about nine hours earlier.It was still gloomy at this spot, the morning not being clear.
She entered the trunk, dislodged the box containing her old clothing, pulled off the satin shoes, and gloves, dress, and in ten minutes emerged in the cotton and shawl of shepherd's plaid.
Baron was not far off.'Now you look the milkmaid again,' he said, coming towards her.'Where is the finery?'
'Packed in the box, sir, as I found it.' She spoke with more humility now.The difference between them was greater than it had been at the ball.
'Good,' he said.'I must just dispose of it; and then away we go.'
He went back to the tree, Margery following at a little distance.
Bringing forth the box, he pulled out the dress as carelessly as if it had been rags.But this was not all.He gathered a few dry sticks, crushed the lovely garment into a loose billowy heap, threw the gloves, fan, and shoes on the top, then struck a light and ruthlessly set fire to the whole.
Margery was agonized.She ran forward; she implored and entreated.
'Please, sir--do spare it--do! My lovely dress--my-dear, dear slippers--my fan--it is cruel! Don't burn them, please!'
'Nonsense.We shall have no further use for them if we live a hundred years.'
'But spare a bit of it--one little piece, sir--a scrap of the lace--one bow of the ribbon--the lovely fan--just something!'
But he was as immoveable as Rhadamanthus.'No,' he said, with a stern gaze of his aristocratic eye.'It is of no use for you to speak like that.The things are my property.I undertook to gratify you in what you might desire because you had saved my life.To go to a ball, you said.You might much more wisely have said anything else, but no; you said, to go to a ball.Very well--I have taken you to a ball.I have brought you back.The clothes were only the means, and I dispose of them my own way.Have I not a right to?'
'Yes, sir,' she said meekly.
He gave the fire a stir, and lace and ribbons, and the twelve flounces, and the embroidery, and all the rest crackled and disappeared.He then put in her hands the butter basket she had brought to take on to her grandmother's, and accompanied her to the edge of the wood, where it merged in the undulating open country in which her granddame dwelt.
'Now, Margery,' he said, 'here we part.I have performed my contract--at some awkwardness, if I was recognized.But never mind that.How do you feel--sleepy?'
'Not at all, sir,' she said.
'That long nap refreshed you, eh? Now you must make me a promise.
That if I require your presence at any time, you will come to me..
