She dropped upon her knees before a little plant of yellow woundwort that grew beside a tree. She caressed it, she murmured to it, she gave it a dozen fond names in the strangest of elfin language. It did not stir. It remained just a quiet, drowsy woodland thing. “Ah!” she cried, leaping to her feet, “it’s jealous of the baby. What do I care?” She gave it a little slap with her hand. “Wake up, you sulky thing!” she cried--“I’m going to tell you something. There’s no flower like my baby in all the world!” CHAPTER XXXVI. I GO TO LONDON. I walked home that night in a dream. The white road lay a long, luminous ribbon before me; the wet hedges were fragrant with scented mist; there was only the sound in my ears of my own quick breathing, but in my heart the echo of the sweet wild voice that had but now so thrilled and tortured me. I thought of her swerving presently from her dreary road southward, to sleep under some bush or briar, fearless in her beauty--fearless in her confidence of the rich nature about her that was so much her own. She seemed a thing apart from the world’s evil; a queenliest queen of fancy, that had but to summon her good fellows if threatened. “Sweet safety go with you, my fairy!” I cried, and, crying, stumbled over a poor doe rabbit sitting in the road, with glazing eyes and the stab of the ferret tooth behind her ear. “Zyp! Zyp!” I muttered, gazing sorrowfully on the dying bunny, “are you as much earth, after all, as this poor hunted brute? Ah, never, never let your kinsfolk strike you through your motherhood.” I found my father sitting up for me amid the gusty lights and shadows of the old mill sitting-room. He welcomed me with a joy that filled my heart with remorse at having left him so long alone. “Dad,” I said, “I have seen Zyp!” He only looked at me in wonder. “She was coming to implore my help to enable her and--and her husband to escape--to get away abroad somewhere.” “Escape? From what?” “That man--my one-time friend--that I told you about. He has pursued them all the year with deadly hatred. Jason is half-mad with terror of him, it seems.” My father’s face darkened. “He summoned his own Nemesis,” he said. “What do they want--money?” “Yes. I promised her what I could afford. To-morrow I must run up to London to raise it.” “On what security?” “A mortgage, I suppose. I have some small investments in house property.” He mused a little while. “It is better,” he said, by and by, “to leave all that intact. We must part with another coin or so, Renalt.” “If you think it best, father. I wouldn’t for my soul go back from my promise.” “Will you take them up and negotiate the business? I grow feeble for these journeys.” “Of course I will, if you’ll give me the necessary instructions.” He nodded. “I’ll have them ready for you to-morrow,” he said. Then for a long time he sat gazing gloomily on the floor. “Where are they?” he said, suddenly.