"Why! It's just 'Columbine' over again...." began Prunella scornfully. But the words froze on her lips, and she stood spellbound and frightened. It was 'Columbine,' but with a difference. For, since they had last heard it, the tune might have died, and wandered in strange places, to come back to earth, an angry ghost. "Now, then, dance!" cried Professor Wisp, in harsh, peremptory tones. And it was in sheer self-defence that they obeyed--as if by dancing they somehow or other escaped from that tune, which seemed to be themselves. "Within and out, in and out, round as a ball, With hither and thither, as straight as a line, With lily, germander, and sops in wine. With sweet-brier And bon-fire And strawberry-wire And columbine," sang Professor Wisp. And in and out, in and out of a labyrinth of dreams wound the Crabapple Blossoms. But now the tune had changed its key. It was getting gay once more--gay, but strange, and very terrifying. "Any lass for a Duke, a Duke who wears green, In lands where the sun and the moon do not shine, With lily, germander, and sops in wine. With sweet-brier And bon-fire And strawberry-wire And columbine," sang Professor Wisp, and in and out he wound between his pupils--or, rather, not wound, but dived, darted, flashed, while every moment his singing grew shriller, his laughter more wild. And then--whence and how they could not say--a new person had joined the dance. He was dressed in green and he wore a black mask. And the curious thing was that, in spite of all the crossings and recrossings and runs down the middle, and the endless shuffling in the positions of the dancers, demanded by the intricate figures of this dance, the newcomer was never beside you--it was always with somebody else that he was dancing. You never felt the touch of his hand. This was the experience of each individual Crabapple Blossom. But Moonlove Honeysuckle caught a glimpse of his back; and on it there was a hump. CHAPTER VII MASTER AMBROSE CHASES A WILD GOOSE AND HAS A VISION Master Ambrose Honeysuckle had finished his midday meal, and was smoking his churchwarden on his daisy-powdered lawn, under the branches of a great, cool, yellowing lime; and beside him sat his stout comfortable wife, Dame Jessamine, placidly fanning herself to sleep, with her pink-tongued mushroom-coloured pug snoring and choking in her lap. Master Ambrose was ruminating on the consignment he was daily expecting of flowers-in-amber--a golden eastern wine, for the import of which his house had the monopoly in Dorimare. But he was suddenly roused from his pleasant reverie by the sound of loud excited voices proceeding from the house, and turning heavily in his chair, he saw his daughter, Moonlove, wild-eyed and dishevelled, rushing towards him across the lawn, followed by a crowd of servants with scared faces and all chattering at once.