Chapter III: The Rose-Princess Fulfills Her Destiny

GRUFF Dr. Mux took the white rosebud home with him, little thinking it was the lost Princess, which was perhaps just as well, seeing that he was such an enemy to the royal family. At least every one thought he was, but everybody was wrong to think so, as, in spite of the names he called them, he was really a great upholder of the throne, and in his humble house the exiled King and Queen had been hidden all the time of the revolution. No one thought of looking for them in the house of such a red republican as Dr. Mux, so they were as safe there as though they were guarded by stone walls and faithful soldiers.

When Dr. Mux arrived home, he went straight to bed, but arose very early in the morning, before the sun was up, and called the King and Queen.

“Sire and madam,” he said, bowing before them, “as I came through the streets, I noticed that the people were talking about re-establishing the throne.”

“Oh, then we will go back to our palace,” said the Queen joyfully.

“And make an example of all traitors,” observed the King sternly.

“Nothing of the sort, sire and madam,” said the doctor, bowing again. “From what I heard, I think the people want to put your daughter on the throne.”

“Nonsense!” said the King.

“Pooh!” said the Queen.

“You think so?” observed the doctor severely. “Listen.”

They did listen, and heard a roar in the distance coming nearer and nearer, then a great mass of people came sweeping up the street, crying out, “Long live Queen Rose!” “Let us see our new Queen!” “Where is the Rose-Princess?”

“Ah, where indeed?” cried the Queen, weeping. “I have not seen our beautiful daughter since the mob attacked the palace.”

“She would easily be recognised,” said the doctor.

“I’m not so sure of that,” replied the King, looking at the Queen. “You know our Princess is enchanted by the faeries.”

“Faeries?” echoed the doctor; “I never saw one.”

“But I did,” said the Queen.

“Excuse me, my dear madam—dyspepsia,” returned the doctor gravely, for you see he did not know how the Princess changed to a rosebud every night.

The Queen was very angry, but dared not say anything, lest the doctor should deliver her up to the mob, who were now surging in the wide street, listening to a man who was speaking.

“That is Ardram the student,” said the doctor. “I saw his sick mother last night—she gave me this rosebud.”

“Ah,” sighed the Queen, as she took the rosebud from the doctor, “how like my poor lost daughter!”

“I do not see the resemblance, sire and madam,” said the doctor; “but listen to Ardram;” and he went out of the room, leaving the King and Queen to hearken to the man who had taken their throne from them. He was talking in a loud tone to the mob, and telling them they ought to elect the Rose-Princess for their Queen, as she would know how to govern better than her parents. The sun was just rising, and the golden beams were shining on his face, so that he looked truly noble.

“A seditious traitor!” cried the King.

“Cut his head off!” said the Queen.

But they had not the power to do so, and, amid cries of “Long live Queen Rose!” Ardram leaped from his standing-place, and all the mob swept down the street to look for the lost Princess.

The King and Queen turned from the window in great anger, when they saw to their surprise that the Rose-Princess was standing in the room.

“My child, my child!” said the King, kissing her.

“It was your rosebud, then?” said the Queen, folding the beautiful girl in her arms.

“What rosebud?” asked the Rose-Princess in surprise; “and how did I come here?”

“The doctor brought you,” said the King.

“Did he carry me through the streets?” asked the Princess, very much astonished. “I wonder I was not recognised.”

“No one could recognise you as you were then,” said the Queen, and nodded wisely, but she did not tell the Princess that she had been a rosebud when she was carried by the doctor.

“I’ve had such a lot of adventures,” said the Rose-Princess; “but I don’t know how I came from one place to the other. First, I was in the palace, then in Ardram’s room, then by his sick mother’s bedside, and now here. It must be the faeries.”

“It is the faeries,” observed the Queen, kissing her daughter again. “You’ll know all about it when you marry the exiled Prince, and break the spell.”

“Oh, I can break whatever spell there is when I marry Ardram,” said the Rose-Princess; “he is the exiled Prince.”

“Nonsense!” said the King, frowning.

“Pooh!” said the Queen in an angry tone.

“Oh, but he is,” cried the Rose-Princess gaily. “I saw his crown, for his mother showed it to me.”

“Then, if he is the real Prince,” said the King, “you had better marry him, and break the enchantment.”

“What enchantment?” asked the Rose-Princess.

“You will find it all out,” began the Queen, “when”—

“When you marry Prince Ardram,” finished the King.

All day the three royal people sat in the humble room of the doctor, and talked about their troubles. Rose-Princess told her parents all about the misery of the people, and how they ought to govern, but the King and Queen only laughed, which showed that the severe lesson of exile was lost on them. Gruff Dr. Mux was very much astonished to see the Rose-Princess, and told her how she had been proclaimed Queen by Ardram.

“Then I’ll marry him,” said the Rose-Princess promptly, “for I love him very much. Where is he?”

“Coming up the street,” said the doctor. Then all four went to the window, and saw that the crowd of people were coming back, looking very disappointed because they had not found the Princess.

Ardram mounted on a great stone in front of the church door, for the cathedral of the city was just opposite the doctor’s house. When the Rose-Princess saw him, she ran out of the room, down the stairs, and across to where the student was standing.

“Ardram, Ardram, I am here!” she cried, and climbed up beside him.

The people recognised their beautiful Princess at once, and cried out,—

“Long live Queen Rose!”

“And King Ardram,” said the Princess loudly; “if you make me Queen, you must make him King, and we will both rule wisely.”

“She never thinks of us,” said her father.

“Ungrateful child!” cried the Queen.

But no one heard them, for the mob began to roar, “Long live King Ardram and Queen Rose!” and the red light of the setting sun shone on the handsome couple as they stood on the stone. Ardram was beside himself with joy, not at being made King, but because the beautiful Rose-Princess had her white arms round his neck, and was saying how much she loved him.

Suddenly the red light in the sky vanished and the sun set, leaving Ardram standing alone on the stone with a white rose in his hand.

“Where is the Queen?” roared the mob.

“I don’t know,” cried Ardram, looking at the white rosebud in a bewildered manner; “she is gone.”

“He wants to be King alone,” cried the people, “and has made the Queen disappear by magic.”

“No, no,” said Ardram. “I love her too much for that.”

“Kill him! kill him! he’s a magician!” yelled the people, and they all pressed forward to tear Ardram off the stone, but, seeing his danger, he jumped down and ran into the church, closing the great doors after him. There he was safe, for the mob dared not to break into the church, but all night roared round it like a stormy sea round a little boat.

The King and Queen left the window, and told the gruff doctor all about the enchantment of the Rose-Princess, which he was now inclined to believe, as he had seen her disappear so suddenly before his eyes. He recommended the Queen to call on the Faery Rosina, which she did, and in a moment the faery, a tall, beautiful woman, in a robe of shining green, was standing before them. Then the doctor did believe in faeries, because he now really saw one for the first time, and was much astonished.

“Well, are you sorry you lost your throne?” asked the faery severely.

“Very,” said the King and Queen together.

“If you go back, will you rule wisely?” she said, looking at them.

“We will rule just as we ruled before,” they replied.

“Then you are not fit to go back,” said Rosina sadly. “I see I have not cured you after all.”

“Nonsense!” said the King.

“Pooh!” said the Queen, and they both thought the faery was very rude.

“I’ll settle everything to-morrow morning,” said the faery, quite angry at their folly. “I can do nothing till the Rose-Princess becomes a woman again—she will of course marry the Prince Ardram to break the spell.”

“Is he really the Prince?” asked the King and Queen together.

“Yes, he is,” retorted the faery shortly, and then vanished, leaving them quite disconsolate, as they thought they would never get back their throne.

Meanwhile Ardram walked up and down the dark church all night, listening to the roaring of the crowd outside, and wondering how the Princess kept vanishing and appearing so strangely. He was more in love with her than ever, and at last went fast asleep on the altar steps, dreaming about his lovely bride, who said he would rule as King with her. The rosebud lay on the steps beside him, but Ardram never thought for a moment that his charming Princess was so near him.

Next morning he awoke in the early grey dawn, before the sun was up, and found himself surrounded by the King, the Queen, Dr. Mux, his mother, now looking strong and well, and a beautiful tall woman, in a green robe, with a wand made of white roses.

“I am the Faery Rosina,” she said to him in a low, sweet voice, “and I am come to put things to rights, Prince Ardram.”

“Why do you call me ‘Prince’ Ardram?” asked the student, looking puzzled.

“The Rose-Princess will tell you,” said the faery, smiling.

“But where is she?” asked Ardram, looking around.

“There,” said the faery, pointing with her wand to the white rosebud, which lay on the floor where Ardram had flung it the previous night.

“Impossible!” he said in astonishment.

“Not at all,” cried the King, coming forward; “nothing is impossible to a royal princess. That rosebud is my daughter.”

“Given to the King and Queen by me,” said Rosina sweetly. “They did not know how to rule, and as I knew this revolution would take place, I wanted to provide an heir to the throne.”

“But the white rose cannot reign,” said Ardram, rather bewildered.

“Not now, but wait till the sun rises,” cried the fairy. “Ah, here is the first yellow beam! Now look.”

Every one looked at the white rosebud lying on the floor, and then a yellow beam which struck through a painted window, creeping nearer and nearer till it shone on the white bud. In an instant that vanished, and in its place stood the Rose-Princess, looking tall and beautiful. On seeing Ardram, she bounded towards him and put her arms round his neck.

“Good morning, my Prince,” she said sweetly.

“But I am no prince,” cried Ardram, clasping her to his breast.

“Yes, you are,” said the Rose-Princess merrily; “you are the great-grandson of the King who was deposed.”

“Is this true, mother?” asked Ardram.

“Perfectly true,” she replied, producing the crown. “Here is the royal crown; you are the real King, but I did not dare to tell you till the Faery Rosina gave me permission.”

“And I waited till now because I wanted you to marry the Princess Rose,” said the faery, as Ardram placed the crown on his head. “The Princess is enchanted, and turns into a rose every night, so in order to break the spell she must marry you.”

“When?” asked both lovers together.

“Now,” said the faery, and, touching Ardram’s dress, it changed into beautiful royal robes all of gold, and at the same moment the Rose-Princess appeared dressed in wedding garments, with her crown of silver and diamonds on her head. The organ rolled out a bridal march, and the priests came forth in a long procession. In a few minutes the Princess Rose was married to Ardram, and then her silver crown rolled off.

“You must not wear silver any more,” said the faery, “because the spell is now broken, and you will never change to a rosebud again.”

So saying, she touched the Rose-Princess’s head with her wand, and immediately there appeared a beautiful golden crown, as gorgeous as that worn by Ardram.

“Now you are King and Queen,” said Rosina graciously, “so you will go to the palace and govern wisely.”

“Oh yes, we will,” cried the new King and Queen joyfully and then they kissed one another as they stood in their royal crowns and splendid garments before the great altar.

“But what is to become of us?” said the old King and Queen.

“You are not fit to govern,” said the faery severely, “and only care for pleasure, so you will go away to the other end of the kingdom, to a city of your own, where the people are as fond of pleasure as you are, and there you will be happy.”

“Nonsense!” said the King.

“Pooh!” replied the Queen.

Nevertheless, both of them were secretly very delighted, as they would now be able to enjoy themselves as they pleased. Then the faery ordered the doors of the cathedral to be thrown wide open, the organ played a triumphal march, and the new King and Queen walked slowly down the church, looking the handsomest couple in the world. The gruff doctor and the old mother followed, but the deposed King and Queen had vanished with the Faery Rosina, who transported them to their own city, where they ruled and enjoyed themselves for many years.

Then all the people in the city saw the new King and Queen standing before them with their royal crowns, and the bells rang, the streets were made clear again, and as the young couple moved through the crowd, which strewed flowers before them, the people cried,—

“Long live King Ardram and Queen Rose!”

And the Rose-Princess never changed into a flower again, but became a true, loving wife to the King, who ruled well and wisely, for he had seen the hardships of his subjects when he was a poor student. They reigned long and happily, and had many children, but in all their prosperity the Queen never forgot how she had been an enchanted Rose-Princess.

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SORROW-SINGING

THERE was once a poor woman who lived in a little village many, many years ago, when the world was much younger than it is now, and when the destinies of mortals were often controlled by the faeries. This woman, whose name was Eldina, had lost her husband, who had fallen in a great battle while fighting the enemies of his king, and a month after she heard of his death, Eldina became the mother of a beautiful little son, which event was a great comfort to her.

The truth was that, seeing she was so miserable and lonely since the death of her husband, the kind faeries had given her this little baby to cheer her heart, and when it was born they took it under their own special protection. It was necessary to inform Eldina of this, so one bright summer’s night a number of faeries flew into the room where the child was lying and stood in a circle round the cradle.

Eldina was engaged in some household work, but having faery blood in her veins, she had a very delicate sense of hearing, and immediately knew by the rustle of the faeries’ wings that they had arrived. She made herself neat and clean to do honour to her illustrious visitors, and went into the room to hear what they had to say about the child.

The cradle was quite covered with the most lovely flowers, which the enchantments of the faeries had caused to bloom on the brick floor of the cottage, and in the centre of the exquisite blossoms slept the smiling baby, on whose face shone a bright moonbeam.

“Eldina,” said the Faery Titania, who is Queen of the Faeries, “we have come to bestow our gifts upon your child, whom we have taken under our special protection—is there any gift you would like him to possess?”

“Yes, your Majesty,” cried Eldina eagerly; “the gift of happiness.”

All the faeries looked grave at this request, and a sigh sounded through the room, while Titania gazed sadly on the child.

“We cannot give happiness,” she said sorrowfully. “Every mortal can only find happiness in his own actions, but we will do the best we can—I will give the child the gift of song, which is the greatest of all gifts.”

So saying, she touched the child’s lips with her wand, and retired, while the Faery Laurina stepped forward with a wreath of laurel leaves.

“I give this child the gift of fame,” she said, placing the laurel wreath on the baby’s head; “his songs will make him famous throughout the world.”

“From me he receives the gift of beauty,” cried another faery, whose name was Venusina.

“From me the gift of wisdom,” said the Faery Minervetta.

“From me the gift of a kind heart,” observed a smiling fay, who had kind blue eyes.

Then all the other faeries bestowed their gifts in turn—wealth, honour, grandeur, cleverness, strength. Everything that human beings most desire was given to this lucky baby, on whom the name of Lanis was now bestowed by the universal voice of all the faeries present.

“All these are beautiful gifts,” said Eldina, weeping, although she half smiled through her tears, “but they do not bring happiness.”

“They bring happiness if wisely used,” cried Titania.

“Then give him the power to use them wisely,” pleaded the poor mother.

“We cannot—we cannot,” sighed the faeries; “the power rests with himself.”

“Will he never find happiness?” cried Eldina in despair.

“Yes, when he arrives at the Kingdom of Shadows, and enters it through the golden gate.”

“But how will he find the golden gate?”

“By being a good man. If he misuses his gifts and becomes wicked, he will go through the iron gate into the Kingdom of Fire.”

Then the beams of the moon grew brighter, until the whole chamber glowed with silver light, and the faeries commenced to dance gracefully round the cradle, singing this song, while the baby Lanis slept peacefully, with the crown of green laurel leaves on his head:

“Great blessings on thy head will fall,
In this thy natal hour;
But ah! the greatest gift of all,
We have not in our power.

We give thee wealth, we give thee fame,
We give thee hate of wrong,
The splendour of an honoured name,
The mighty power of song.

These gifts are idle as the wind,
Tho’ by them thou art blest,
Unless thro’ seeking thou canst find
The gift we deem the best.”

Then all the faeries melted away in the thin moonshine, the blooming flowers vanished through the floor, the laurel wreath disappeared from the baby’s head, and Eldina almost thought that she had been dreaming.

She had not been dreaming, however, as she soon found out, for, as the years rolled by, and Lanis grew up into a tall, handsome boy, he became the wonder of the countryside, owing to his beautiful voice and his marvellous songs. Eldina had found a golden lyre left by the faeries when Lanis grew old enough to play it, and with this in his hand he was accustomed to wander about the country singing his lovely melodies. All the country folk used to make Lanis sing to them at their merrymakings, but when he lifted up his voice, the dancers would cease to dance, the talkers to chatter, and they would sit with awestruck faces listening to the wonderful stories he told them.

It was a curious thing that, in spite of what the faeries had said about not giving him the gift of happiness, the lad’s songs were of the most joyous description, and made the hearts of all rejoice. Eldina was delighted at this, as she thought Lanis would now be happy, in spite of the prophecy of the faeries, when at one merrymaking she heard an old man say,—

“Ah, he sings fine, no doubt; but he’ll sing better when his heart is broken.”

“What do you mean?” she asked in great dread.

“Joy-singing is beautiful,” replied the old man, “but sorrow-singing is better; your lad knows nothing of the bitterness of life, and sings like a delighted child. Wait till he breaks his heart, and he will be a famous singer indeed.”

“But will he be happy?” she asked quickly, as the old man turned to go.

“No: genius is the gift of heaven, but it always brings sorrow to its possessor; the laurel wreath is a sign of honour, but the leaves are bitter.”

Eldina looked steadily into the eyes of the old man, and saw that he was a faery who had come to warn her of approaching sorrow. She strove to detain him and learn more, but the faery had vanished, and her hands only grasped the rags of a scarecrow which stood in the fields.

That night she died, and Lanis, who was deeply attached to her, wept bitterly as they buried her under the cool green turf. Before she died, Eldina called him to her bedside, and told him all about the faeries, bidding him wander through the world and seek the one gift which they could not bestow. Lanis wept, and although he could not understand what she meant, still a vague idea of her real meaning came to him as he sat by her grave under the silent stars and sang a farewell. There was a note in his voice which had not been there before, and the simple people in the village awoke at midnight to hear his sad voice float through the still air of the summer’s night.

“It is sorrow-singing,” they said to one another. “Lanis will never be happy again.”

And they were right, for Lanis now started to wander through the world and find out how cruel and hard it can be to those who have sensitive souls and childlike faith. He was full of belief in human goodness and kindness of heart, for he had received nothing else but kindness in his country home; but now his mother was dead, the spell was broken, and he set forth to find the gift of happiness.

Many months he wandered, singing his songs, sometimes sad, sometimes joyful, but in all there sounded the weary note of longing for what he was seeking.

“Where can I find happiness?” he asked an old beggar who lay by the wayside.

“In the Kingdom of Shadows,” replied the old man, without raising his eyes.

So Lanis pursued his weary way over mountains, plains, and seas, always asking his one question, and always receiving the same answer.

Once he came to a great city, and sang in the streets so beautifully of the green country and silver moonlight, that all the tired citizens crowded around to hear. A man who was among the crowd came up to him as he ceased his song and touched him on the sleeve.

“Come with me,” he said eagerly, “and I will make you rich.”

“I don’t want to be rich,” replied Lanis.

“That is a foolish thing to say,” said the man, who had a crafty face; “gold is the finest thing in the world.”

So oily was his speech that he persuaded Lanis to come with him, and took him to a great hall to sing, where he stood at the door himself, making the people pay broad gold pieces to hear this wonderful poet who sang about such noble things. Lanis felt a longing for wealth in his heart, and sang about the power of gold to make or mar life, of the good it could do, of the evil that arose through its misuse; and all the people in the hall, mostly fat, wealthy merchants, chuckled with delight.

“Ah! this is a sensible fellow,” they said to each other; “he sings about sensible things.”

“I think his song about the beautiful green woods was finer,” sighed a poor boy who listened outside, but then no one took any notice of such a silly observation.

When Lanis had done singing, he came out of the hall, and found the man who had tempted him with wealth sitting before a table heaped high with gold.

“Is all that mine?” asked Lanis in a breathless tone.

“All that yours!” echoed the man in an indignant voice; “no, indeed—it’s my money—here is your share,” and he pushed two pieces of gold towards Lanis out of the great heap.

“But I earned it,” said Lanis indignantly; “I earned it with my voice.”

“And did I do nothing?” cried the man angrily. “Do you think I can give my time and services to you for nothing? I should think not. If I hadn’t put you into this hall to sing, and charged for people to hear you, why, you would have been singing for nothing in the streets, instead of getting two gold pieces.”

“But you have a hundred gold pieces.”

“Of course—that’s my share.”

“I did half the work, and I ought to have half the money.”

“Not at all,” replied the man, putting the gold in his pocket; “if you wanted half you should have said so before you sang.”

“But I trusted you,” cried Lanis.

“More fool you,” retorted the man carelessly; “but I saw you were a fool when you sang.”

“You are doing a wicked thing.”

“It’s only business,” shrieked the man; “you ought to be pleased at my giving a beggarly poet like you anything, instead of trying to steal the money I’ve worked for so hard.”

Then the man ran about the city telling all the people that he had done a great kindness to Lanis, and been shamefully treated for doing so. All the citizens, who quite agreed with the man’s way of doing business, fell upon Lanis, and, driving him out of the city, shut their gates against him.

In this way, therefore, did Lanis gain his first experience of the world’s unkindness when there is any question between right and might. Picking up his lyre, he walked on, leaving the city wherein he had been so cruelly deceived far behind him, and as he went he sang sadly:

“In the school of life
Is the lesson taught,
That with harshest strife
Is our knowledge bought.

We are bought and sold
In our joy and grief;
I have lost my gold,
I have lost belief.

Ah, by cruel Fate
We are onward led;
I have learned to hate,
And my faith is dead.”

Lanis certainly should not have sung so bitterly when such a beautiful world bloomed around him; after all, being deceived by one man does not mean that every one else is as cruel; but then Lanis was very sensitive, and the unjust way in which he had been treated made him very sad, so that all his songs now spoke but of the sorrows of life and the sadness of despair.

As he wandered on for many months in this dismal mood, he met with many adventures, but, alas! nothing which could give him back his former childlike belief in human kindness, and he was very anxious to get to the Kingdom of Shadows and find once more his lost happiness.

Once he came to a great city which was the capital of a very rich kingdom, and here found the citizens in a state of great dismay, for their King, whom every one loved, had gone out of his mind. No one could cure him of his madness, so it had been proclaimed that whomsoever should do so would become the husband of the lovely Princess Iris, who was the King’s daughter. Lanis saw the Princess, and she was so beautiful that he at once fell deeply in love with her, and, forgetting all his former experience of ingratitude, he thought that if he cured her father, she would grow to love him, and he would thus discover his happiness without looking any more for the Kingdom of Shadows.

With this idea he went to the royal palace of the King, and there told the Lord High Chamberlain that he would cure the mad monarch by the power of song. The Lord High Chamberlain did not believe much in what Lanis said, still he was anxious that every means should be tried to cure the King, so let Lanis go into the dark room where he was sitting.

The King was a noble-looking old man, who looked very sad and sorrowful, but Lanis saw at once that he was not really mad, but sad and despondent, owing to the treachery and unkindness he had found upon every hand. His dearest friends had betrayed him, his subjects were rebellious, and the poor King so despaired of ever making his people wise and noble that he had thus fallen into this deeply sorrowful state which the Lord High Chamberlain mistook for madness.

Lanis ordered the curtains of the great window to be drawn aside, and, when the bright sunlight streamed in through the painted glass, he sat down in the centre of all the gorgeous colours, and, taking his lyre, began to sing of noble deeds in order to rouse the despairing King from his lethargy:

“The world is fair
With beauty rare,
Then why despair,
Oh monarch great?
He is not wise
Who never tries
Sublime to rise
O’er adverse Fate.

The summer flowers
Re-bloom in bowers,
Tho’ winter’s hours
May kill with frost.
Beneath the sun
As quick years run;
All thou hast done
Is never lost.”

The King lifted up his head as he heard these comforting words, and looked at the noble face of the minstrel, for the silvery song bade him not despair, although no good appeared to come of all his work; and Lanis, seeing a ray of hope beam in the King’s eyes, went on singing joyfully:

“Put on thy crown,
And boldly frown
Thy sadness down,
Tho’ keen the smart.

Thy burden take
Of office great,
And rule the State
With dauntless heart.

A coward he
Who thus would flee
Despairingly,
In time of need.
Tho’ evils lurk
In darkness murk,
Resume thy work—
Thou wilt succeed.”

Then the King, whose face now was shining with hope and strong resolve, put on his royal crown, took his golden sceptre in his hand, and went forth to take his seat upon the throne to do justice to his subjects.

“Thou art a wise youth,” said he to Lanis, “and thy words are noble. It is foolish to desert one’s post when there is work to be done, and I will not forget thy rebuke. Now, thou wilt stay with me and marry my daughter.”

Lanis was only too glad to do so, for he now loved the Princess with all his might, but, seeing her leave the great feast which the King had given in honour of his recovery, he followed her secretly, and found her weeping.

“Why do you weep, beautiful Princess?” he asked.

“Because I have to marry you,” said Iris sadly, “and I love another.”

Lanis felt a pang at his heart as she said this, and on turning round saw a handsome young man holding the beautiful Princess in his arms.

“Do you love one another?” asked Lanis, with tears in his eyes.

“Yes; it would be death for us to part,” they both replied.

Then Lanis saw that once more he had failed to find happiness, but still it was in his power to bestow it upon others, so he took the Princess and her lover to the old King, and obtained his consent to their marriage. The lovers thanked him heartily, and after Lanis saw them married, he once more started away to wander through the world. The King offered him gold and jewels to stay, but Lanis refused.

“Gold and jewels are good things,” he said sadly; “but happiness is better, therefore I go to find it.”

“And where will you find it?” asked the King.

“In the Kingdom of Shadows,” answered Lanis, and he departed, singing his sorrow-song:

“Ah me, what treasure
To taste the pleasure
Of love’s caress.
Oh, idle lover,
Wilt thou discover
Heart’s happiness.

Nay! folly this is;
I gain no kisses
From sweet Princess.
Of him she’s fonder,
So forth I wander
In sad distress.”

It would take a long time to tell how many adventures Lanis met with in his wanderings through the world. The years rolled by, and he travelled onward, never pausing, always hoping to find happiness, but, alas! no one could tell him where to look for the Kingdom of Shadows, and he seemed farther off his object than when he set forth. He freed many princesses from the durance of cruel magicians, but though they all thanked him for his kindness, they loved some one else, and he found no one in the world who cared at all about him. He was honoured far and wide for his gift of song, and did much good in all lands, but no one loved him for himself, and although he was the cause of happiness to others, he never felt happiness in his own heart.

At last, after many years of weary travel, when he had grown a white-haired old man, with bent form and sad heart, he found himself on the shore of a great sea, beyond which he knew lay the most wonderful countries. A boat was rocking on the waves near the shore, so Lanis determined to sail over this mysterious ocean, and thought that perhaps far away in the darkness he might find the Kingdom of Shadows, for which he had sought so long and ardently. He knew that if he once sailed over this ocean, he would never be able to return to earth again, so he sang a last farewell to the beautiful world wherein he had done so much good, and then stepped into the boat.

It was a fairy boat, and moved rapidly onward over the waves without sails or oars. The mists gathered thickly round him and hid the green shore from his view, so sitting in the boat he saw nothing but the grey sky above, the grey mists around, and beneath him the cruel black waters. He was not afraid, however, for he knew he had done no harm, and, seizing his harp, sang his last sorrow-song:

“Grey mist around me,
Grey sky above me;
Sorrow hath crowned me—
No one will love me.

Brave spirit, quail not;
All will be bright yet.
At thy fate rail not;
God will make right yet.

Still do thy duty,
Tho’ all deceive thee,
Splendour and beauty
Now will receive thee.”

As he sang the last words, the strings of his lyre snapped with a loud crash, and, leaping out of his nerveless hands, it fell into the grey waves of the sea. Lanis did not grieve, for he now knew he was done with his sorrow-singing for evermore, and as the boat sailed onward he saw a red glow to the left.

“That is the gate of iron,” he whispered to himself, “it leads to the Kingdom of Fire. Ah! I would never find any happiness there.”

The waves were foaming angrily round the little boat, and the red glare from the open portals of the iron gate looked like an angry sunset, but still Lanis felt no fear. After a time the red glare died away, and now on every side of him was a soft golden light, while the waves beneath the boat were of a delicate blue, and the sky above of the same soft tint. Lanis looked around, and saw a soft green shore, to which his boat drifted gently, and he sprang out on to the yellow sand of the beach. As he did so, his travel-worn clothes fell off him, and he found himself arrayed in a long white robe.

A tall man, also in a white robe, approached, and, smiling gently on Lanis, gave him a golden harp.

“Is this my old harp?” asked Lanis, taking it.

“No; it is better than the old harp.”

“Is it for sorrow-singing?”

“Nay; it is for songs of joy.”

“And is this Faeryland?”

“Nay; it is a nobler place than Faeryland.”

“Is it The Kingdom of Shadows?”

“So we called it on earth, but now we know it as the Kingdom of Eternal Light.”

Lanis looked at the tall man as he said this, and saw it was the old king he had helped—now no longer old and frail, but in the prime of life.

“You are the King!” he cried gladly.

“Yes, I was the King. You pointed out my duty to me, and I did it; otherwise I never would have reached here.”

“And the Princess?”

“Is quite happy,” replied the King. “She rules my realm with her husband, and both are wise.”

“Have you found happiness?” asked Lanis.

“Yes!—and so will you, when you strike your harp,” answered the King.

Lanis struck the golden strings of his harp, and immediately all his weariness and sorrow passed away, and he felt glad and joyful. At the sound of the music, he changed from an old man into a noble-looking youth—the same Lanis who had sung to the King.

“Ah, I have indeed found happiness,” he cried; “but still, I feel I want something more.”

“I know what you want,” said the King. “Look!”

And Lanis, looking up, saw his mother, with a calm expression of joy upon her face, coming towards him, with outstretched arms. All the white-robed spirits around struck their golden harps and sang the most beautiful songs that were ever heard, while mother and son embraced, and far off the palace of the great King shone like a bright star.

Lanis also struck his harp, and, with the earthly monarch and his mother, went singing onward through the lovely fields, to kneel before the King, who had thus drawn him onward, through sorrow and sadness, to find his happiness at length in the land which we mortals call the Kingdom of Shadows but which wise men know as the Kingdom of Eternal Light.

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THE GOLDEN GOBLIN