Everything was so well prepared, that to clothe herself in these garments was a matter of ease.In a quarter of an hour she was ready, even to shoes and gloves.But what led her more than anything else into admiration of the Baron's foresight was the discovery that there were half-a-dozen pairs each of shoes and gloves, of varying sizes, out of which she selected a fit.
Margery glanced at herself in the mirror, or at as much as she could see of herself: the image presented was superb.Then she hastily rolled up her old dress, put it in the box, and thrust the latter on a ledge as high as she could reach.Standing on tiptoe, she waved the handkerchief through the upper aperture, and bent to the rift to go out.
But what a trouble stared her in the face.The dress was so airy, so fantastical, and so extensive, that to get out in her new clothes by the rift which had admitted her in her old ones was an impossibility.
She heard the Baron's steps crackling over the dead sticks and leaves.
'O, sir!' she began in despair.
'What--can't you dress yourself?' he inquired from the back of the trunk.
'Yes; but I can't get out of this dreadful tree!'
He came round to the opening, stooped, and looked in.'It is obvious that you cannot,' he said, taking in her compass at a glance; and adding to himself; 'Charming! who would have thought that clothes could do so much!--Wait a minute, my little maid: I have it!' he said more loudly.
With all his might he kicked at the sides of the rift, and by that means broke away several pieces of the rotten touchwood.But, being thinly armed about the feet, he abandoned that process, and went for a fallen branch which lay near.By using the large end as a lever, he tore away pieces of the wooden shell which enshrouded Margery and all her loveliness, till the aperture was large enough for her to pass without tearing her dress.She breathed her relief: the silly girl had begun to fear that she would not get to the ball after all.
He carefully wrapped round her a cloak he had brought with him: it was hooded, and of a length which covered her to the heels.
'The carriage is waiting down the other path,' he said, and gave her his arm.A short trudge over the soft dry leaves brought them to the place indicated.
There stood the brougham, the horses, the coachman, all as still as if they were growing on the spot, like the trees.Margery's eyes rose with some timidity to the coachman's figure.
'You need not mind him,' said the Baron.'He is a foreigner, and heeds nothing.'
In the space of a short minute she was handed inside; the Baron buttoned up his overcoat, and surprised her by mounting with the coachman.The carriage moved off silently over the long grass of the vista, the shadows deepening to black as they proceeded.Darker and darker grew the night as they rolled on; the neighbourhood familiar to Margery was soon left behind, and she had not the remotest idea of the direction they were taking.The stars blinked out, the coachman lit his lamps, and they bowled on again.
In the course of an hour and a half they arrived at a small town, where they pulled up at the chief inn, and changed horses; all being done so readily that their advent had plainly been expected.The journey was resumed immediately.Her companion never descended to speak to her; whenever she looked out there he sat upright on his perch, with the mien of a person who had a difficult duty to perform, and who meant to perform it properly at all costs.But Margery could not help feeling a certain dread at her situation--almost, indeed, a wish that she had not come.Once or twice she thought, 'Suppose he is a wicked man, who is taking me off to a foreign country, and will never bring me home again.'
But her characteristic persistence in an original idea sustained her against these misgivings except at odd moments.One incident in particular had given her confidence in her escort: she had seen a tear in his eye when she expressed her sorrow for his troubles.He may have divined that her thoughts would take an uneasy turn, for when they stopped for a moment in ascending a hill he came to the window.'Are you tired, Margery?' he asked kindly.
'No, sir.'
'Are you afraid?'
'N--no, sir.But it is a long way.'
'We are almost there,' he answered.'And now, Margery,' he said in a lower tone, 'I must tell you a secret.I have obtained this invitation in a peculiar way.I thought it best for your sake not to come in my own name, and this is how I have managed.A man in this county, for whom I have lately done a service, one whom I can trust, and who is personally as unknown here as you and I, has (privately)transferred his card of invitation to me.So that we go under his name.I explain this that you may not say anything imprudent by accident.Keep your ears open and be cautious.' Having said this the Baron retreated again to his place.
'Then he is a wicked man after all!' she said to herself; 'for he is going under a false name.' But she soon had the temerity not to mind it: wickedness of that sort was the one ingredient required just now to finish him off as a hero in her eyes.
They descended a hill, passed a lodge, then up an avenue; and presently there beamed upon them the light from other carriages, drawn up in a file, which moved on by degrees; and at last they halted before a large arched doorway, round which a group of people stood.
'We are among the latest arrivals, on account of the distance,' said the Baron, reappearing.'But never mind; there are three hours at least for your enjoyment.'
The steps were promptly flung down, and they alighted.The steam from the flanks of their swarthy steeds, as they seemed to her, ascended to the parapet of the porch, and from their nostrils the hot breath jetted forth like smoke out of volcanoes, attracting the attention of all.
