But endeth of the panther size,
Thy fore half, it would appear,
Had belong’d to some “small deer,”
Such as liveth in a tree;
By thy hinder, thou should’st be
A large animal of chace,
Bounding o’er the forest’s space;—
Join’d by some divine mistake,
None but Nature’s hand can make—
Nature, in her wisdom’s play,
On Creation’s holiday.
He only looked up again to check that he was still here, to look into the faces of the audience, pressing ever nearer, baffled as they might have been.
Thou can’st not be amended: no;
Be as thou art; thou best art so.
When sooty swans are once more rare,
And duck-moles the Museum’s care,
Be still the glory of this land,
Happiest Work of finest Hand!
There was applause. If not for the applause, Elias might not have realized that he had come to the end. He looked up, dazed and teary eyed, and so unexpectedly full of joy that he thought he might burst.
And then he saw her too, for just a moment, against the surf and sky.
He saw her as clearly as he saw anyone else that day.
And then she was gone.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Hattie had wishedto greet Elias the instant he had stepped from the platform and shower him with praise and gratitude.
She was, however, intercepted by the royal valet, who had been sent to retrieve Elias for an audience.
It occurred to Hattie that she might point out, at an advantageous moment in the future, that she was no longer the only one with princes as intimates. It was a thought that made her smile as she watched him be led to the dais where the prince was seated.
“That was just lovely,” came Monica’s voice, punctuated with a sniffle. “Perfect, I’d say. Though I imagine Libba will be steaming.”
“She will cool,” said Hattie, turning to the other woman with a smile.
Behind them, Errol was preparing his pigs and their props for a grand display.
“No grange,” Hattie observed, nodding toward him. “He is distressed about that.”
