  But sleep does not last forever, and after a time Eva awoke. And when she first sat up, and looked around her, she could not understand, for a moment, how it could be that everything was so changed; why the brook should be gone, and its voice silenced; the path no more to be seen; and how she should be sitting on this soft bed of velvety-green moss, with the little figure lying in her lap. Then, all at once, she remembered all that had happened the day before,—and as she thought it over, like a pleasant, yet indistinct dream, she recalled the two fair forms which had hovered over her sleep,—faintly conscious of their presence, though unaware of the words which they had spoken. Whether they were real, or only a dream, Eva did not know; she only recalled them mistily; for, in this strange, silent land, through which she was wandering, she never knew what was real or what unreal,—it was all alike to her. And as nothing that happened astonished her, so never for one moment did her thoughts go back to the father and mother she had left, or to the little baby-brother cooing in his cradle. It was as though they never had existed, so completely were they forgotten. The Present, such as it was, had effaced all memory of that Past. Sitting on her soft, mossy bed, still holding in her little hands the motionless little figure which the fountain had left her, and which, Eva knew,—though how she knew it she could not tell,—was something to be cared for and guarded, as being more helpless than herself. Eva thought over all the adventures of the day before, and while she wondered what would come next, she wished she could once more hear the pleasant murmur of the brook which had guided her, for what purpose she knew not, to this spot. Only a few moments had passed since the child awoke, when a low, musical chime rang through the forest. It died away and then returned; and then came again and again, in tones so marvellously sweet that Eva, who had just taken the little figure into her hands, dropped him into her lap, and pushed her long golden curls away from her face, the better to listen to the melody. Once more it came, and once more died away into silence. And then there was a low, rushing sound, and, far in the distance, Eva saw arise, as it were from out of the earth, among the trees, the tiny silver crescent of a young new moon,—and as she looked at it, it rose higher and higher, and faster and faster, till it reached, in a few minutes, the very centre of the sky, the child’s blue eyes still following it; and when once there it paused, and floated among the strange, gleaming clouds, which surrounded it, like a little shining boat. With a sudden impulse Eva bent down and kissed the little figure lying in her lap; and then she looked up at the crescent of the moon, as upon the face of an old friend; and she would have sat there longer watching it, but that all at once a little, weak voice said: “I am awake again, and there is my home.” Then there came a hurried exclamation of surprise, and Eva looked down from the moon’s crescent to see that the little figure which she had taken from the crest of the fountain had suddenly, as it were, been gifted by her kiss, with life, motion, and speech, and that he was now standing in her lap, evidently as much astonished at seeing her as she was at the change which had come over him. But their mutual surprise did not last; for the little mannikin began to laugh as Eva’s blue eyes grew larger and rounder, and when at last she asked, “Who are you?” he put his head to one side, in the most comical manner, and, taking off the plumed cap which he wore, he made her a very low bow. “—taking off the plumed hat which he wore, he made her a very low bow.” “I know now who you are,” he said. “You are Eva, and you will have to take care of me,—that is all you were sent here for.” Eva laughed. “Suppose I should not want to take care of such a little thing as you are?” “You will not have any choice in the matter,—you cannot help yourself.” “Why?” “Because THEY have said it.” “I may not choose to do it.” “What is the use of talking,” the boy went on, “when you know that you will?” And such were the answers that he persisted in giving to all her inquiries. “You said you knew who I was,” Eva went on; “but how did you know it?” “They told me.” “Who are THEY?” “They led you here to me, and for me. You must not ask so many questions.” “May I not even ask your name?” “You ought to know that without my telling you. But, as you don’t, I will answer you. It is Aster.” “Aster? Aster?” Eva slowly repeated; “it seems to me that I have heard that name before.” “You never did,” was the somewhat sullen answer; “for no one but myself has any right to it.” “Yet I am very sure that I have heard it before, at——” “Hush! hush! You must never say that here,” said the miniature boy, climbing up on Eva’s shoulder, and laying his hand upon her lips. “You know as well as I do that you never heard my name before.” “I thought I had,” Eva said, looking lovingly at the little figure nestling among her golden curls; “but I now know that I never did. Still, I would like to know who you are. Are you a fairy?” “I am not a fairy, but you are all mine,” Aster said, gayly. “But you must be careful with me, and never lose me, or else——” “What?” “I do not know. They are watching us.” Who “THEY” were, Eva could not induce him to say. For even when he did try to explain, his words were all so confused that Eva could not understand at all what he meant, although he seemed to speak plainly; and the only thing that she could really learn from him was this,—that she must not ask questions, and that THEY were THEY. Which is all very strange to us; but it appears that Eva was at last satisfied, because Aster seemed to think that she should understand it just as he did, and that nothing further need, consequently, be said on the subject. |
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