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You quickly wipe your eyes and straighten up. Mabel is the last person you'd let see your tears. You ask her what she wants, what she's doing here, perhaps more savagely than you intended, for even she flinches a little by the tone of your voice. She replies that had also stepped outside for some air when she saw you leaving the tavern with secret purpose. Curiosity got the better of her. She begins mounting the steps and you hold up your hand and tell her to stay there. You'll accompany her back to the party in a minute. She doesn't listen, of course, and continues climbing up until she is face-to-face with you. Her lantern's light reflects off your tear-stained cheeks, but of this she says nothing, instead she looks away, as if ashamed.
You ask her how much she knows. She does not reply at first, then suddenly confesses that it was her that told Mrs. Wescott about the stolen fruit. She smiles then, sadly it seems to you, at your "brilliant solution". Though Gordon was punished by his father for his foolishness, the punishment was faced and endured with such courage that his father could not mete it out in full measure, by reason of his pride filled to bursting. His timid son had finally taken on some responsibility. Gordon is now gone far beyond her reach. The Wescott daughters, for one, are all enamored of him, as would any girl who spent their days in his cheerful company. She applauds you.
But your sullen silence only seems to incense her. She begins taunting you, trying to goad you into some argument, but you have not the spirit for it. Then she says that she did see your uncle slip away into the woods. She will not ask what has happened between the two of you, but whatever it was, she would not see you in this wretched state. And so, you should let her have your "curses and self-righteous censure". Your anger is more endurable to her than this "melancholy". You snap back that it's hardly self-righteousness if she's actually in the wrong, to which she merely smiles. Then, she tells you to clean yourself up and to return to the party posthaste. You cannot help asking why she went to all this trouble for what is, after all, her enemy. She gives you an uncharacteristically bashful look (you can even see a faint flush on her cheeks), then turns quickly and descends the steps with such speed that the shells in her hair click to and fro. Finally, reaching the ground, she pause and calls out, that if you really can't find the reason let it simply be that "it's your birthday, silly!".
You watch her light swing merrily down the road, smiling a little, despite yourself. Later, when you return to the tavern, your guests have forgotten all about your promised dance, too engrossed now in the fat pastor's tales from his youth abroad, tales they've heard a thousand time before. As the party dies down, you are accosted for an urgent private audience by one of the guests.
It is:
>Amelia
>The fat pastor
>One of the castle guards
>Write-in
