Ella Enchanted - By Gail Carson Levine Page 0,45

head to the twilight sky.

For a terrifying moment I thought she saw me. But no, she just smiled her dazzling smile -- and vanished.

Char gasped.

I sighed, a long release.

"We'd better go down," I said. "Soon they'll look for me in earnest."

There was just enough light to see by. In a few minutes we stood on the landing above the hall.

"No one is here," Char said. "You need resist temptation no longer."

"Only if you slide too."

"I'll go first so I can catch you at the bottom." He flew down so incautiously that I suspected him of years of practice in his own castle.

It was my turn. The ride was a dream, longer and steeper than the rail at home. The hall rose to meet me, and Char was there. He caught me and spun me around.

"Again!" he cried.

We raced up. Behind me he said, "Wait till you try the banister at home."

His home! When would I do that?

"Here I go." He was off.

I followed. I was almost to the bottom when the door opened. I sailed into Char's arms observed by the stunned faces of Father and my new family.

Char couldn't see them and twirled me as before, until he got halfway round.

Then he set me gently on the floor and bowed at Father and Mum Olga, his buttonless doublet flapping. He was laughing so hard he couldn't speak.

Father grinned. Mum Olga smiled uncertainly. Olive wore her puzzled frown.

Hattie glowered.

I used their distraction to conceal the glass slippers in the folds of my skirt.

"Thank you for the honor of your presence," Father said, giving Char time to collect himself.

But not time enough. "You have..." Burst of laughter. "...my best wishes for your felicity..." Laughter. "which is assured...." Peals of laughter. "Forgive me.

I'm not laughing..." Laughter. "...at you. Please understand..." He trailed off.

Father chuckled. I laughed helplessly, holding the stair rail for support. I couldn't help it, although I knew Hattie would make me pay.

22

AFTER A final awkward bow, Char left us.

"You've made another conquest, Ella," Father said.

"The prince wouldn't--" Hattie began.

I interrupted. "I haven't made any conquests. Your mushrooms made the other one. Besides, soon Ch--- the prince leaves to spend a year in Ayortha."

"My darling, must we remain in this drafty hall?" Mum Olga extended her lower lip in an absurd pout.

"Sweetness, you're cold! We'll go at once." Father draped his cloak over Mum Olga's shoulders.

In the coach I was wedged between Hattie and Olive -- uncomfortable, but warmed by their bulk. Across from me, Mum Olga turned eagerly to Father.

"Before, it would have been wrong to ask, but now I may, dearest. How rich are we?"

"Why, just as rich as we were before. Silly goose, did you think weddings caused our coffers to grow?" He put his arm around her shoulder.

"No, dear." She pouted again. "I only wanted to know."

"Now you do."

"I may be just a silly goose, but I don't know. I mean, I know how much I have, but I don't know what we have."

Father faced her and put both hands on her shoulders. "My love, you must be brave."

I braced myself.

"I came to you a poor man, with only myself to offer. I hoped it would be enough." .

She touched his cheek. "You are just enough for me." Then his words reached her. "Poor? What do you mean poor? Poor is sometimes a figure of speech. Do you mean poor?"

"From my ruin, I salvaged my clothes and Ella's. Little more."

"Mama!" Hattie cried. "I warned you. What will we tell people? I knew Ella--"

She was drowned out by Mum Olga's wails. "Yooou didn't looove meee. Yooou deceeeived meee, myyy looove!"

He drew her against him. She sobbed into his cloak.

"Are we poor?" Olive asked, her voice rising in panic. "Is our money gone? Will we starve?"

"Hush, Olive," Hattie said. "We're not poor. Ella is poor. We must pity her. But--

"

She was interrupted. Mum Olga had stopped crying and pushed herself out of Father's arms. She reached across the coach and pawed at me, ripping my reticule from my waist.

"What's in here?" She dumped its contents on her lap. "Coins? Jewels?"

Only a comb and a handkerchief, but she examined the comb. "Silver filigree.

I'll keep it." She tossed the purse back at me and then lunged again. The carriage lurched while she clamped onto my bracelet and attempted to pull it off my arm. I tried to push her away, but she held fast.

Father pulled her off me and held her hands in his. "Olga," he said, "we love each