But her voice had none of the husky tenderness of a dove as she cried, "Oh, Ranulph! You naughty boy! Oh, dear, this is frightful! Nat! Nat! What are we to do?" Ranulph shrank away from her, and cast an imploring look towards his father. Whereupon Master Nathaniel took her roughly by the shoulders and pushed her out of the room, saying, "If that is all you can say, you'd better leave the boy to me." And Dame Marigold, as she went down the stairs, terrified, contemptuous, sick at heart, was feeling every inch a Vigil, and muttering angrily to herself, "Oh, these Chanticleers!" We are not yet civilised enough for exogamy; and, when anything seriously goes wrong, married couples are apt to lay all the blame at its door. Well, it would seem that the worst disgrace that could befall a family of Dorimare had come to the Chanticleers. But Master Nathaniel was no longer angry with Ranulph. What would it serve to be angry? Besides, there was this new tenderness flooding his heart, and he could not but yield to it. Bit by bit he got the whole story from the boy. It would seem that some months ago a wild, mischievous lad called Willy Wisp who, for a short time, had worked in Master Nathaniel's stables, had given Ranulph one sherd of a fruit he had never seen before. When Ranulph had eaten it, Willy Wisp had gone off into peal upon peal of mocking laughter, crying out, "Ah, little master, what you've just eaten is FAIRY FRUIT, and you'll never be the same again ... ho, ho, hoh!" At these words Ranulph had been overwhelmed with horror and shame: "But now I nearly always forget to be ashamed," he said. "All that seems to matter now is to get away ... where there are shadows and quiet ... and where I can get ... more fruit." Master Nathaniel sighed heavily. But he said nothing; he only stroked the small, hot hand he was holding in his own. "And once," went on Ranulph, sitting up in bed, his cheeks flushed, his eyes bright and feverish, "in the garden in full daylight I saw them dancing--the Silent People, I mean--and their leader was a man in green, and he called out to me, 'Hail, young Chanticleer! Some day I'll send my piper for you, and you will up and follow him!' And I often see his shadow in the garden, but it's not like our shadows, it's a bright light that flickers over the lawn. And I'll go, I'll go, I'll go, I'll go, some day, I know I shall!" and his voice was frightened and, at the same time, triumphant. "Hush, hush, my son!" said Master Nathaniel soothingly, "I don't think we'll let you go." But his heart felt like lead.