CHAPTER IX

An Interview with the Princess

BERT'S cure was complete. The outside bandages were removed. He was pronounced fit to go home.

The nurse wondered what kind of home he had, as she helped him to don the ragged garments he had worn when he was brought into the hospital. She was sorry to part with her good little patient. He was still more sorry to leave her.

"You'll be able to find your way home alone?" she said.

"Rather," replied Bert, with an expressive nod.

"You've neither father nor mother, I think you told me?"

Bert nodded again.

"Then what relation to you is that old man who used to come to see you?"

"No relation at all. He is my friend," said Bert, with some pride.

"Then have you no one belonging to you?"

"I have a sister," said Bert proudly.

"Older than you?"

"Yes, older and better—altogether different. You'd never believe how clever Prin is, and pretty too—I call her the Princess."

"I hope she is good to you?"

"I should think she is," said Bert stoutly; "when she is at home," he added, as an afterthought.

The claims of duty prevented the nurse from pursuing her inquiries. She hastily bid Bert good-bye, and he walked away with a very serious face, striving hard to keep the tears from his eyes.

A pleasant sense of freedom came to him, however, when he found himself outside the walls of the hospital. After all it was good to be able to move about and go where he listed. Bert was not conscious of weakness. A broken bone is not like a disease; he had eaten and slept well during his stay in the hospital, and having had much more nourishing food than he was able to provide for himself, he had gained rather than lost strength since his accident. He felt in no hurry to reach the miserable street in which he lived, though he anticipated with pleasure the welcome he would receive from the old sailor.

Had he known the hour of his dismissal, Mr. Corney might have come to the hospital to fetch Bert; but probably the old man would have found it impossible to leave his sister, whom he needed to watch constantly, if he would save her from the intemperance that threatened to prove fatal to her.

It was in the afternoon that Bert came out of St. George's Hospital, and the gay traffic which distinguishes Hyde Park Corner was at its greatest height. He stood for a while to watch the smart equipages that went by, half expecting to catch sight of Prin seated in one of them. Presently, he crossed the road and examined with interest the place where his accident had occurred.

"It was just here I caught sight of the Princess," he said to himself. "I could hardly believe my eyes, at first, and even now it seems to me like a dream. I wonder where she is. Is she still in London? Surely if she were, she would try to see me."

With the thought, a sudden fear smote Bert.

What if Prin had been to the street to seek him, while he was in the hospital, and, not finding him, had given up the search! "But surely I should have heard of it if she had been there," thought Bert. "Mr. Corney would have told me."

It seemed strange that Prin should be in London and make no effort to see her little brother. But the ways of the Princess had often appeared unaccountable to Bert.

Bert lingered no longer to recall the painful circumstances that had marked for him the Jubilee Day. He walked off briskly, but some impulse, not too evident, withheld him from taking the direct way home. He crossed the road and turned towards Park Lane. Presently he was passing along that aristocratic thoroughfare, finding much entertainment in observing the fine houses and the park, and the smart people who were moving about.

Suddenly his heart leaped within him, for there was Prin. A carriage was approaching him, and she was seated within it. He stood at the corner of one of the streets running out of the Lane, and the carriage dashed past him and stopped before a door about half-way down the street. Prin was very near him as the carriage went by, but she gave no sign of seeing him, and he had not dared to call out, as he had done before. But he noticed as she passed that her face was very red.

It took Bert a few moments to recover from the surprise, then he hastened after the carriage. He was in time to see its occupants alight. First there stepped down a lady wearing the wide cloak and flowing veil which mark the professional nurse. Then, with the help of the footman, she lifted down a girl apparently about Prin's age, with a face as white as a snowflake, who had to be supported on each side as she moved towards the open door. Prin followed, carrying a cushion and wrapper. She looked straight in front of her, or she must have seen her brother hurrying towards her. By the time he reached the house, the great door was shut, and the coachman was turning his horses round.

Bert watched the carriage drive away. Then he surveyed with a sinking heart the handsome oaken door. If only he had the courage to sound the knocker and demand to see his sister! But he dared not.

Yet he was resolved that he would not go away without seeing her. If he stayed there all night, he would wait till she came out. There was a lamppost close by. He threw his arms about it, and leaned against it till he was tired. Then he sat down on the edge of the pavement with his back against the lamppost.

Meanwhile a pair of eyes within the house were anxiously watching his movements. When it appeared that he was determined not to go away, a window above the door was raised a few inches and a voice, clear, though carefully subdued, called to him:

"Go away, Bert; go away at once. It is very naughty of you to come here."

Bert looked up quickly. The voice was undoubtedly Prin's, but he could see nothing of the speaker.

"I'm not going," he made answer boldly; "I shan't go away till I've seen you."

"You must go. I tell you to go!" The voice had the old authoritative ring, and it betrayed anger too, but Bert was not now to be daunted by it.

"I'll go, p'raps, when I've seen you," he said, "not before. You're my sister, and I mean to see you."

This unexpected self-assertion on Bert's part evidently discomfited Prin. There was a pause of some moments, and when she spoke again it was to suggest a compromise.

"I can't see you now, but I'll try to see you presently, if you're a good boy and do as I tell you. Go into the Park and sit on the seat nearest the gate, and I'll come to you there as soon as ever I can."

"All right," said Bert, becoming again an obedient subject. He rose from the pavement, and taking one last look at the house, walked slowly away.

Almost at the end of the street there was an entrance into the Park, doubtless the gate Prin had referred to. He went inside and found a comfortable seat on a bench in the shade. But the time was long, and he grew very hungry ere Prin appeared.

At last he saw her hurrying towards him, with the pucker on her forehead which he knew of old as a sign that she was "put out."

"Oh, here you are, Bert," she said as she approached. "Now then, what do you want?"

"Why, I want you, of course," cried Bert, amazed at the coolness of the question; "what else should I want? Do you forget that you've been away for months? I want to know how it is you are in London, and what you are doing in that big house, and when you are coming home."

"Home!" she repeated, in a tone of disgust. "Do you mean to that hole in the area?"

"Why, no," said Bert, looking greatly disturbed; "that room ain't ours any longer. Mr. Corney lives there now, and I—I sleep in the corner under the stairs."

"So you want me to come home to a corner under the stairs!" cried Prin sharply. "Well, you are a nice brother!"

Bert was taken aback by her turning upon him in this fashion. Tears of disappointment sprang to his eyes.

"No, I didn't mean that exactly," he said; "but tell me about yourself, Prin. Why did you never write to me again? And how came you to leave that nice home in the country with the lady who kept cows, and where you used to ride about in a carriage every day?"

"A carriage!" exclaimed Prin, with a laugh. "Why, it was the milk-cart! I did not know the difference then, but I do now."

"But how?" questioned Bert.

"Oh, I can't tell you everything," exclaimed Prin impatiently, "you'd never understand. Mrs. Hamblyn isn't a lady exactly. She has charge of one of Lord Ravenscourt's dairies, and lives in a pretty cottage close by. Mrs. Thornton, the lady who came to see me when I was ill, sent me to her, and she was very good to me; but after a while Lord Ravenscourt's family came to the Park, and I got to know the children, and I used to play with them in the hay, and they took a great fancy to me, especially the eldest, Lady Millicent, who is very ill. She would send for me when she was too ill to go out; she liked me to talk to her and amuse her, and when they were all coming to London to see the Jubilee, the children wanted me to come too, and Lady Ravenscourt said she would take me. Wasn't that a bit of luck for me?"

"Yes, indeed," said Bert wistfully. "Why, Prin, you're a lady yourself now."

He had closely observed Prin while she talked. He noted that she had grown taller and prettier than ever. She was dressed very neatly, but in finer material than he had ever known her wear before. Her gown was daintily finished with frills at neck and wrists. To Bert's inexperienced eye the Princess appeared very like the real article.

"Not I," she cried, with a flash of scorn for his ignorance in her eyes. "I only wish I were! You've no idea what it is to be a lady. The lovely things that Lady Millicent has! Her father just dotes on her, and he is for ever giving her presents, though she is too ill to care about them. He has given her a little jewelled watch, and a diamond star, and a musical box, and she hardly cares to look at them. She'd give them to me if I asked her for them, I verily believe."

"But you wouldn't do it, Prin?"

"Of course not, you stupid! I only said it to show how little she sets by them. I believe anybody might take them, and she not miss them."

Bert shook his head with an expressive grimace. He did not believe in any one holding jewels so lightly. But the thought was quickly effaced by more personal considerations. He looked wistfully at his sister, and said, with a tremor in his voice,—

"Don't you want to know nothing about me, Prin? Have you forgotten Jubilee Day?"

"What about it?" she asked, with a fine air of unconsciousness.

"Didn't you see me running after the carriage? Didn't you know I was knocked down?"

"Oh, was that you, and were you hurt?" asked Prin. "I saw there was a crowd, but I could not see much for the dust. Were you badly hurt?"

Bert began to talk of his experiences in the hospital. Prin listened with ill-concealed impatience. When he went on to tell the story of Mr. Corney and his sister, she quickly interrupted him.

"Oh, don't talk of that horrid Mrs. Kay! Of course she'll always drink. I guess her brother 'll wish he had never found her."

"Oh no," cried Bert, "he is very glad. He wants to save her. People can be saved from evil, Prin."

"Can they?" she said indifferently. "But now, Bert, I hope you've said all you want to say, for I must run back. They'll be wondering where I am, for I said I only wanted to post a letter."

"But, Prin, you'll let me see you again?" pleaded Bert.

"Now, don't be tiresome," said his sister. "How could I have a little scarecrow like you coming to the house? I'd be ashamed for the servants to know that you were my brother. And we shall soon be going back to the country. I'm to go to school again then, and afterwards I'm to learn the dressmaking, for Lady Millicent says I must be her lady's maid. But nurse says she'll not live to need a lady's maid."

"She looks ill enough," said Bert, remembering the white face he had seen. "Ah, Prin, I guess she'd gladly give up all her jewels to have your health."

"No doubt she would," said Prin; and for a moment a softer look came to her face, which, despite its youthful prettiness, had a hard, keen look. "Well, good-bye, Bert. I must not stay another minute."

Bert caught her by the arm. For a moment he could not speak, there was such a choking sensation in his throat.

"Good-bye, Prin," he said hoarsely at last. "Then you've done with me now? You'll never come back to me?"

"How can I?" she asked impatiently. "How could I live the old life? You'd better do as the lady said, get Dr. Barnardo to take you into his home."

"Ah," said Bert bitterly, "it's plain you don't want me."

And he turned from her without another word and walked away.

She stood for a moment looking after him, conscience-struck.

He trudged along and never turned his head, a mean, shabby, little figure, looking strangely out of place amid the flowers and trees and gaily-dressed children. Prin felt a pang of self-reproach as she sped back to the house.