The tinkle of a mandolin
cut the soft air and the new-mown grass smelled sweet.
"I think this castle is lovely, though, don't you, Joan of Arc?" she
burst out.
"It is an abominable castle," said the girl, in a muffled voice.
"Abominable!"
"Well, then," said Caroline, practically, "if you feel that way,
you'd _better_ escape."
The girl stared at her.
"Tell me," she said, earnestly, "have you ever been in this place
before? Where do you live?"
Caroline shrugged her shoulders impishly.
"I am Mary Queen of Scots," she replied, obstinately, "and I live in
Scotland. Of course, I've been here before. Who are all those other
people in the castle?"
The girl drew a long, worried breath. "I believe I should go mad if
I stayed here much longer," she said, to herself. She drew Caroline
down beside her behind the arbor.
"Listen to me, Mary Queen of Scots," she murmured, very low, with
anxious glances all about her.
"I don't know who you are nor where you come from, but I believe you
will help me--I believe you're sorry for me. You know how badly Joan
of Arc's friends felt when she was in prison? I'm sure you do. Well
I have a--a dear friend who would die for me, if it would help me.
He has no idea where I am.
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