Chapter III: Part 3

When they arrived at Blackwig’s castle the poor captives were thrown into a frightful dungeon, which had only one window, and that on a level with the ground. The place was so deep, and the floor so far down in the earth, that they could hardly see the light, which appeared to them as a little, far-away star. Blackwig was beside himself with fury with the Princess, for, had she married him, he would have gained all the rewards offered by her wicked aunt; and, as he did not intend to poison her, but only to say that he had done so, he hoped when his wife succeeded to the kingdom to share the throne with her. Until then, he intended to keep her hidden in his castle. Truly, it would be a fine thing to be a king, and to have outwitted so clever a woman.

The Princess and Grimaçon sat on the floor of their horrible prison; it was so dark that, for a time, they could hardly see; which was just as well, as the place was full of toads and terrible creatures, and the bones of those who had perished there before were strewn around. At last, their eyes began to get accustomed to the darkness, and Moonflower began to realise the horrors of their position. “It is bad enough to perish one’s self in such a place,” she said, “without having brought thee also into trouble, my dear Grimaçon.”

“Take courage, Madame,” replied the dwarf, “I feel sure that we shall surmount all obstacles, for now I perceive that the time has come for you to use the gifts you have been given. If you will take my advice you will see what the stream, which promised its help, can do for you.”

Half frightened by what she was doing, the Princess repeated these words:—

“River rise and river fall,
Send the help for which I call!”

For some moments nothing happened; but presently a little trickling was heard in the wall. It became louder and louder, and at last, by the dim light, they could distinguish a rivulet running in a tiny thread out of a crack between the stones. It went on increasing in volume until the water covered the floor and rose round the Princess’s ankles. “Alas!” she cried, “the cruel stream has played me false, and we shall certainly be drowned like rats in this fearful place!”

“Wait a bit,” replied the dwarf, who was already up to his knees; “do not despair, we still have the leaf.”

Still the water continued to rise; the Princess, who was horribly frightened, took the leaf that had been given her from the bosom of her gown, and, thinking of the old woman, touched it with the third finger of her left hand. As she did so it began to spread and spread, and at last grew so large and heavy that she could no longer hold it but laid it down. It floated like a boat on the water, and, though it still looked like a leaf, it became the size of a good large tea-tray, and then stopped growing.

Moonflower, who was up to her waist in water, clung to the wonderful leaf, and at last succeeded in seating herself upon it; she then helped Grimaçon to do the same, for the little fellow had been swimming for the last ten minutes. What was their surprise when they got into this strange boat to find that the water had not wet them, and that their clothes were perfectly dry.

The flood rose and rose, and the leaf and its burden rose with it, till at last they were half way up the wall, and, in a surprisingly short time, had reached the level of the window.

The water began rushing out of it, carrying the leaf so swiftly that the Princess thought they would be dashed against the window-bars. What was her wonder on finding that, as the foremost point touched them, they melted away, and with a cry of joy she and her faithful dwarf sailed into the open air.

“Hold tightly, your Highness,” he exclaimed, “for the pace we are going at is terrific.”

The water rushed headlong over fields and pastures, carrying them for several miles, at the end of which it joined itself to the stream the Princess had met in the wood. Moonflower sailed smoothly along, past forests and meadows, past castles and huts, till she came to the city where her own palace stood. On the terrace of the garden she beheld her wicked aunt walking up and down (for the stream ran close by the palace walls). She saw her gesticulating as she went, and heard her cry out, “Miserable girl! Thank heaven she may never return—the throne may yet be mine!”

On sailed the leaf, on and on, for seven days and seven nights, till they came to a land which lay far away from the Princess’s kingdom. The people who saw her passing by in so singular a manner held up their hands in wonder at the strange sight. Never had they beheld whirled by them a beautiful girl, sitting on a green leaf, with such a quantity of golden hair. It flew out as she went like a golden fringe, and when the sun struck upon it she looked as though she were appearing in a cloud of gold. On account of the brightness they could not see Grimaçon, who sat behind her. Soon they came to a place where the water ran between high trees, and where great blue lotos-flowers were growing as high as a tall man, covering the brink to the water’s edge.

While the Princess was admiring such rare and beautiful flowers, the leaf ran against a protruding stone and was carried by an eddy into the bank. Moonflower jumped out and the dwarf followed her example.

“Let us trust we may find something fit to eat, if only roots and berries,” said he, “for we have had neither meat nor drink for many days and nights.”

Once on shore they were much astonished to find that, on reaching land, their boat shrank to its original size, and that Moonflower was able to take it up in her hand. She thrust it again into the bosom of her dress.

The dwarf Grimaçon began at once to look with great diligence for something to eat, and soon discovered some delicious fruit which grew in great masses upon the surrounding trees. When they had both enjoyed a hearty meal the Princess was overcome by fatigue, for her long journey had exhausted her.

“Lay yourself on yonder grass, Madame,” said Grimaçon; “and, while you rest, I will watch over your slumbers.” So she flung herself down under a tree where the moss was like a cushion of green satin, and was soon fast asleep.

Now it happened that there passed that way an aged wood-cutter, who, with a load of faggots, was on his way to the Palace belonging to the King of that country, and who, as he went by, was much surprised to behold, under a tree, the most beautiful maiden in the world, with hair shining like gold and lying spread on the grass like the rays of the moon. He was yet more taken aback by the sight of Grimaçon, who sat beside her, shading her from the sun with a branch which he also used to drive away the flies.

“What is the name of this country, grandfather?” cried the dwarf.

“This is the kingdom of the King of the Crystal Mountains,” replied the greybeard, “and I am now on my way to his palace.”

“And how far off may that be?” asked Grimaçon.

“A half league,” was the reply.

As soon as he had reached the palace the old man begged to be allowed to see the King, who, with the Queen, his mother, was seated at his second breakfast.

The King, who was young, handsome, accomplished, and a great monarch, desired that the wood-cutter should be brought before him. When he heard that a lovely maiden, with hair like the moon’s rays, was asleep on the banks of a stream scarce half a league distant, watched over by a dwarf, his curiosity knew no bounds; so, having rewarded the venerable man with a gold piece and a fricasseed goose from the royal breakfast table, he commanded his chariot to be brought, and was soon on his way to the banks of the stream, accompanied by the Queen, his mother, who was also dying to behold so wonderful a sight.

When the Princess awoke some time afterwards, what was her amazement on beholding a large body of people, headed by a chariot of crystal, the wheels of which were of silver and the cushions of velvet, and which was drawn by six Spanish horses, advancing towards her. In this equipage was seated a lady, magnificently dressed, and a handsome young man, who, stopping the chariot, desired the Princess and Grimaçon to approach.

“Ah!” exclaimed the dwarf, “this is none other than the King of the Crystal Mountains, Madame; let us try to propitiate so great a monarch, for we are completely in his power!”

So saying, he bowed till his back hair swept the ground.

The Princess was then questioned by the Queen as to who she was and where she had come from, but, as she did not wish to give her real name, for fear that Blackwig might by chance hear of her, Moonflower only told their Majesties that she was a stranger, obliged to fly from her country, and craved their protection. She did not know that she was in a kingdom more than a million leagues from her own, and, moreover, one of which Blackwig knew nothing. He was an ignorant fellow, and had forgotten all the history and geography he had ever learnt.

“Your Majesties,” said the dwarf, “if it may be permitted to one so humble to speak in such august company, I would like to mention that we have had no food for several days but the wild roots and berries which grow here.”

The Queen, who had espied the Princess’s marvellous hair, was enchanted with the sight, and at once thought she would like to have her for a maid-of-honour. “Such a person in my train would make me the eighth wonder of the world,” she said to herself.

“Will you come back with me to the palace?” she inquired aloud. “I will admit you into my household.”

Moonflower fell upon her knees and thanked her.

“Get into the chariot,” said the Queen, “and let us be off!”

“But we must have him too,” said the King, pointing to Grimaçon, “for he is a brave little fellow and speaks well.” And he directed one of the men-at-arms to place him before him on his horse.

“This is the second ride of the sort I have had lately,” observed Grimaçon to himself, “but I think it is likely to end better than the last!”

When they arrived at the palace the Princess was appointed to a place among the Queen’s maids-of-honour; they gave her a white satin gown covered with golden lilies to match her hair, in which she looked more beautiful and brilliant than the seven stars of heaven. Grimaçon was still allowed to attend upon her. The King had a great regard for him, and esteemed his talents and good sense very highly.

The Queen’s maids had, upon the whole, a very pleasant existence; it is true that she led them the life of dogs now and then, for her temper was very bad, and she was a proud, jealous woman. But, as the Court was gay, they amused themselves capitally and joined in all the festivities. They had balls three times a week and hunting-parties every day. At the hunting-parties Moonflower rode a magnificent strawberry-coloured mare, with a silver bridle and shoes, while Grimaçon ambled by her side on a huge mastiff, which had been trained to carry him, and which he managed to perfection.

The King was so much attracted by the lovely Princess that he cared to speak to none but her. At all the balls he chose her as his partner, and at all the hunting-parties he rode beside her; but, unhappily, the more his admiration for her increased, the more the other maids-of-honour resented it, and spared no pains in annoying and mortifying her.

“There is no living at court now that this wretched Moonflower has come,” they said to one another; and at last they determined to do their best to set the Queen-mother against her.

“Madam,” they said to her, “your Majesty has no idea of the intriguing character of your new maid; we can hear the sly creature talking sometimes to her miserable puppet of a dwarf, and we know that she is plotting to become possessed of the King’s affections, and intends to supplant your Majesty in the influence you have always had with him.”

At these words the Queen turned pale. She was furious.

She knew not upon what pretext she could injure Moonflower, for she could find no fault with her sweet temper and modest demeanour. That afternoon, as the whole court was setting out upon a hunting expedition, the Princess was about to mount her horse at the palace-door as the Queen passed by in her carriage.

“Why do you always ride that ugly brute?” called out the Queen crossly, pointing to the strawberry-coloured mare.

“Madam,” replied Moonflower, curtseying, “because his Majesty, the King, presented me with the animal.”

“Little wretch,” hissed the Queen between her teeth, “she would ride a pig if the King asked her to!” And she drove off in a fury.

The King was so much in love with Moonflower that he could neither eat by day, nor sleep by night, and, as soon as they came to that part of the forest where they intended hunting, he rode beside her; he never quitted her all day; he said a thousand tender things to her; in fact, he was so devoted that Grimaçon, who was trotting behind them on his mastiff, was overjoyed, for he felt sure that the King, as well as being an excellent _parti_, was worthy of her in every respect.

When the Queen-mother heard of this, her rage knew no bounds; she caused her chariot to be turned and went straight home. To add to her troubles, a heavy thunderstorm came on, and the rain drenched her to the skin, so that, by the time she arrived at the palace, she was almost beside herself. On the Princess’s return that afternoon she was summoned to the Queen’s apartments, where she found her Majesty in a towering rage. She stormed and raved, she called her by a thousand bad names, she would not hear a word the poor girl had to say, and, at last, flung herself upon a couch, breathless with anger.

“And what is the reason of your Majesty’s displeasure?” inquired Moonflower, terrified. “May I be informed of my offence?”

“Intriguing hussy!” cried the Queen, “you know too well! But you will never be mistress here—the King has too much sense to stoop to such an alliance!”

“Madam!” exclaimed Moonflower, “I do not understand you.”

“Oh, indeed,” replied the Queen, ironically, “so you don’t know what I mean. I mean that you are trying to entangle the affections of my son, the King, with your soft looks and sly ways; but, believe me, such unmaidenly conduct will never succeed.”

When the Princess heard these cruel words she was ready to die of mortification and misery, and her anger against the Queen grew almost beyond her control. “Ah!” she cried, “what a cruel position I am in, and who is there that will help me?”

Then she suddenly bethought herself of the stream, and, without waiting to reflect whether she was right or wrong in her impulse, she cried,

“River rise and river fall,
Send the help for which I call.”

and, as she said this, she wished in her heart that the stream might rise and drown the Queen.

Immediately a voice was heard to say, “Unhappy Princess, why have you neglected my warning?” And a fountain in the garden below the windows of the Queen’s apartments began throwing itself higher and higher into the air until it dashed against the casement, breaking the glass, and pouring into the room.

The Queen rushed to the door as fast as she could, tore it open and flew downstairs, followed by Moonflower. But the water pursued them down the staircase and into the garden. When it had reached thus far it flowed across the terrace into the river which ran below, leaving the garden dry, and the Queen shrieking among the flower-beds, where all the beautiful flowers—roses, lilies, tulips, marguerites and marigolds—were torn up by the roots. Moonflower felt herself carried away by the water; her cries and struggles were of no avail, and, catching and clinging to every object she passed, she was whirled away and very soon lost consciousness. In this condition she floated along the river for leagues and leagues, with her long hair spread out like a fan behind her, to where it flowed at the foot of the Crystal Mountains.

Here she awoke from her trance and found herself being hurried swiftly forward towards a dark spot visible in the base of one of the highest hills. She drew closer and closer to it, but could not stop herself. Picture her terror on finding, as she approached it, that the dark spot proved to be the mouth of a huge cavern! In another moment she had entered it and was sinking down, down, down.

It was completely dark, and the water continued transporting her into the very bowels of the earth. At last, after what seemed to poor Moonflower several hours, a faint light began to show itself far below her, and to grow larger every moment, until the stream all at once emerged from the darkness, and she found herself in a wide and solitary marsh. She clung to some rushes that grew at the water’s edge and dragged herself out.

“Where am I?” she cried, “and what horrible place is this in which I find myself? My last hope is the enchanted leaf,”—and she put her hand into her dress, but oh, horror! she had dropped it. _Where?_

She wept until she was weary, and then, as she began to feel the pangs of hunger, she arose, and, looking over the vast expanse of marsh, tried to see whether there were any house or cottage where she might beg a piece of bread and a lodging.

In the far distance she soon beheld a building, toward which she directed her steps, and, after walking for hours, she came to an enormous palace, built entirely of mud. At the gate there lay a great crocodile, at sight of which the Princess almost fainted with fear; but, perceiving that the creature was asleep, she timidly approached and rang the doorbell, the handle of which was made of a crocodile’s tooth.

Now, the country in which Moonflower found herself belonged to a terrible and wicked Enchanter, who lived there entirely by himself but for thousands of crocodiles, which were his only companions, and for which he had a singular fancy. When he heard the bell ring he looked out, and saw the Princess standing before the door, so he immediately went down to meet her. When she beheld him her terror increased a thousandfold, for he was indeed more frightful than sin itself. He was clothed from head to foot in the skins of crocodiles, and carried in his hand a rod made of black wood, upon which was represented a crocodile’s face. He had but one glaring eye, and his mouth was furnished with huge pointed teeth, which caused him to look fiercer than an ogre. When he set eyes upon her he cried: “Ho! here comes another mortal to add to my collection of crocodiles!” And he raised his magic wand to change her into one of these loathsome beasts, when, as he was about to put his wicked design in practice, an idea struck him. “No,” he said, “I am getting up in years, and require some one to look after me; my crocodiles are stupid brutes and perform the services of my house but indifferently. Now here is a servant ready to my hand.” So he dragged the terrified Moonflower into his horrible palace, where he set her to scrub the floors, wash the dishes, cook the food, and perform the most menial offices. At night she had only the bare boards to sleep on, and nothing to eat but dried frogs.

In this way many days passed. All night she wept and all day she worked hard. “Oh, if death would but come to relieve me!” she sobbed, “what a blessing it would be. But alas! he alone comes to those who do not want him, and forgets wretches like myself.”

Now the Enchanter had a great glass tower on the top of his house, on which was reflected everything that took place on the marsh in which it stood, and every day the Princess would go up and look out to see if, by any chance, help might be approaching; and, as day by day she came down disappointed, she began to fear that she would have to spend the rest of her life with the Enchanter and his hateful crocodiles. “If I had but my dear Grimaçon,” thought she, “but alas! how can he know where I am, and, even if he did, how could he get here?”

We must now return to the palace of the King of the Crystal Mountains.

When the flood caused by the fountain had subsided and the Queen had been put to bed in hysterics, the excitement somewhat calmed itself, and only the dwarf went running about calling for the Princess. When one of the servants informed him that she had been carried away by the water his grief knew no bounds. He sighed, he wept, he tore his hair, his cries were heard all over the palace, where he wandered about from room to room, giving way to his sorrow, and at last he came to the room where the Queen and his mistress had been talking at the time of the flood. As he walked along, with his head bent, looking the very picture of desolation, he caught sight of a little dark thing lying on the floor. He picked it up.

It was the Enchanted Leaf, which had been dropped by Princess Moonflower.

At the sight of this, which so forcibly brought back to him her memory, his tears began to flow afresh. He sat down upon the ground, looking at it, and thinking of the late tragedy. Suddenly it occurred to him that the Princess might not indeed be dead, but that she had probably called upon the stream to help her, and had been carried away by it. “Perhaps,” conjectured the unhappy little creature, “she desired its aid without a good reason, and has been overtaken by the flood as a punishment. The voice warned her of it. If so, I must seek her to the very ends of the earth. Perhaps this leaf may be of service to me also, for, though I am not the Princess, I have her happiness as much at heart as if I were.”

He then resolved to go to the King and to tell him the whole story, concealing only the fact of Moonflower’s high birth, which he had solemnly sworn not to reveal without her permission. At that moment he looked out of the window and perceived the King walking about round the fountains and up and down the terraces as one distracted. He tore his hair and even his moustache. It was fortunate that the Queen, his mother, was in bed and could not see him.

Grimaçon went out into the garden, and, with a low bow, presented himself before the afflicted monarch.

“Ah!” cried the King. “My worthy Grimaçon, what a blow is this! Alas! alas! how terrible to think that Moonflower is drowned!”

“Take courage, your Majesty,” replied the dwarf. “I hope that we may yet behold her again.”

And he told the King of the Crystal Mountains the whole story, craving his Majesty’s permission to go in search of his dear mistress.

“Go! go!” exclaimed the King, “most excellent dwarf, and I will go with thee. We will seek her together, though we should traverse the whole universe.”

When the Queen heard that her son was about to depart on a long journey accompanied by the dwarf, she was furiously angry, for she guessed that they were going to look for Moonflower. But she was soon appeased, as she was to have the management of the kingdom during the King’s absence.

The King and Grimaçon started quite alone, the King taking nothing with him but a sword which he had inherited from his grandfather, and which he thought might bring him luck. The hilt was made of a single topaz, and the blade was of such superfine Damascus steel, that when it was forged it was considered the eighth wonder of the world. The dwarf carried with him nothing but the Enchanted Leaf.

“I think, your Majesty,” he observed, “that we shall do well to follow the course of the stream that has taken Moonflower away; and if so, we will have recourse to this.”

And he pulled the Enchanted Leaf out of his pocket, and, touching it with the third finger of his left hand, he thought of the old woman who had given it to the Princess, wondering whether it would be of the same use to him as it had been to her.

Instantly it began to grow larger and larger, until it became big enough for the King and Grimaçon to sit upon it. In another moment they were being whirled onward upon the face of the water.

“Now that we are fairly launched,” observed the dwarf, “I am sure that your Majesty has never travelled in this way before and with such a companion.”

“As to the travelling,” answered the King, “I would put up with anything in order to reach Moonflower; and I shall indeed do well if I never start upon an enterprise with a less brave and loyal friend.”

The dwarf was greatly pleased at finding himself so much esteemed by the King, and, as they sailed along, his heart grew lighter, for he felt sure that they would find the lost Princess some day.

They journeyed on, stopping here and there to gather the fruits that grew on the banks, and at night resting at the water-side, for the King, being strong, they were able to stop their boat and pull it ashore. After a weary journey they saw in front of them the same dark spot that Moonflower had remarked at the foot of the Crystal Mountains. When they became aware that it was a deep cavern towards which they were rushing, they were rather startled.

“Well, well,” sighed the King, “if she has perished, let us also perish, and in the same manner.”

When they entered the mouth of the hole and found themselves sliding down, down, down, deeper and deeper, even Grimaçon grew frightened, and held tightly to his Majesty’s doublet.

At last they beheld a tiny speck of light shining far below them.

“Courage, Grimaçon,” exclaimed the King, “For I see a light.”

Here the dwarf peered round the King’s elbow (for he was seated behind him), and, when he saw the little spark, he felt that, after all, fortune might yet permit them to land somewhere in safety.

At last they came out, as Moonflower had done, into the lonely marsh.

The stream sailed on, but much more slowly, and the King and his companion began to find the leaf on which they sat decreasing in size. “I feel sure that it is a sign of our voyage being at an end,” said Grimaçon.

The King stepped into the shallow water, picked up Grimaçon, and set him on the bank, drawing the leaf up after him. It immediately shrank to its natural size, upon which his Majesty gave it to the dwarf, who put it in his pocket. As they sat resting upon the bank they espied the Enchanter’s mud palace towering in the distance and resolved to go there, hoping to find some one who might give them news of the object of their search.

They walked and walked across the wet marsh, stumbling and sinking in the slimy mud, until the dwarf grew so tired that he could go forward no longer.

“I can go no further, sire,” he exclaimed, “and your Majesty must go on and leave me; I do not fear death now that I am robbed of my dear mistress.”

But the King would not hear of such a thing, and, being a strong man, he took him on his back and proceeded onward as best he might, for Grimaçon was no light weight, on account of the hump on his back, which made its owner as heavy as an ordinary person.

Now it happened at that moment, that Moonflower was looking out of the Enchanter’s glass tower, and saw, in the far distance, a man advancing with something on his back. With the exception of her wicked jailer, she had seen no one since she came to his house but the hideous reptiles which surrounded it, and her heart leaped with joy.

Picture her transports of delight on beholding, as they approached, that they were none other than the King of the Crystal Mountains and Grimaçon!

“But,” she thought, bursting into tears, “the dreadful Enchanter will but turn them into crocodiles as soon as he sees them!”

She flew downstairs and met the King and the dwarf at the door.

The crocodile which was lying across the threshold snapped his horrible teeth at them as they advanced, but, drawing his sword, the King pierced him to the heart, when, to the intense astonishment of the Princess and her rescuers, he at once became a young man.

“How can I thank you?” he exclaimed, embracing the King. “You have liberated me from a frightful prison.”

And he explained to them how the Enchanter, by a touch of his black wand, had transformed him into a crocodile, until he should be released by the sword of a fellow mortal.

“But,” he continued, “he will do the same to you, if he gets near enough to strike you also.”

At this moment the Enchanter, who, during this conversation, had been asleep indoors, came out with the fatal wand in his hand. With a howl of rage, he rushed towards them, but, in so doing, he fell over the carcase of the crocodile and his wand slipped from his fingers. He stretched out his hand to catch it, but Grimaçon was too quick for him, and, seizing the little rod, he broke it into a thousand pieces and scattered them to the four winds of heaven. The King waited until his enemy rose, upon which, drawing his sword, he fell upon him. A deadly combat then ensued, for the cruel monster had a club made of crocodiles’ bones, which he used with great skill and with which he laid about him like a madman.

But, at last, he sank, mortally wounded by the topaz-hilted sword, and expired at the King’s feet. At the same moment a shout of joy was heard, and all the crocodiles appeared in their true shapes, for the Enchanter’s death had set them free from their captivity.

There were upwards of a thousand beautiful youths and maidens, who had, at one time or another, fallen into the stream and been carried down through the cavern into these dark and awful dominions.

The King then fell upon his knees before Moonflower and implored her to become his wife. The dwarf added his entreaties to those of his Majesty, and the Princess promised that, if they lived to reach the kingdom of the Crystal Mountains, she would bestow upon him her heart and her hand.

So they started for the cavern’s mouth, followed by the troop of those rescued from the Enchanter’s malice.

When they had traversed the marsh they heard a sound like thunder, and, looking back, perceived that the mud palace had sunk into the earth, and that, in its place, there had arisen a grove of palm-trees the stems of which were of gold and the leaves of emeralds.

The marsh, too, had changed its aspect in a very wonderful manner. The brackish water had become as clear as amber, golden fish darted about in it and shot to and fro among the rushes, which were of crystal and aquamarines. A thousand will-o’-the-wisps with diamond lanterns flashed about and the air was full of the songs of birds.

At the cavern’s mouth they stopped, not knowing how to go on, when Grimaçon took the Enchanted Leaf from his pocket and gave it to Moonflower. She touched it, and behold, it blazed up like a star in her hand, throwing light into the mouth of the cave and illuminating the falling water. Then they observed a little staircase cut in the rock which wound upwards, ascending high out of their sight. It had a crystal balustrade which made the ascent quite easy, and in a few moments they were all on their way up it.

It took them two days to reach the top and the poor Princess nearly fainted with weariness, but, supported by the King, she at last accomplished it, after which they sat down to rest awhile at the foot of the Crystal Mountains.

All at once they perceived flying towards them in the air two magnificent chariots, so glorious and brilliant that never, in the whole world, had anything appeared like them.

The first was drawn by twenty silver swans. In it sat a lady from the border of whose cloak hung fringes of pearls and jacinths. She alighted on the ground, close by the Princess, who, pale with astonishment, was watching the second chariot approaching. This was drawn by twelve peacocks, and made entirely of emeralds. It was driven by the most lovely lady imaginable, no less gorgeous than her companion, wearing a crown of opals which shone like the stars on a summer night.

The two Fairies stepped out of their chariots, and thus addressed the astonished King:

“This,” they said, pointing to the Princess, “is the Princess Moonflower, daughter of a rich and powerful sovereign now dead. She has been compelled to fly from her kingdom by her wicked aunt, who has usurped the throne.”

“I am the Fairy of Rivers and Streams,” continued the lady who had first arrived, “and, as she once did a kindness to a subject of mine, I have protected her; and, had she not disregarded a warning I gave her, these late troubles would never have taken place.”

The Princess fell upon her knees and craved the Fairy’s pardon for her folly.

“Rise,” answered she, lifting her, “you have, with the King’s help, overcome your difficulties, and you certainly ought to make him happy.”

The other Fairy then came forward.

“Moonflower,” she said, “I am the Fairy of the Green Woods, and it was I, in the guise of an old hag, whom you so graciously conducted on my way. It was I who gave you the Enchanted Leaf, which you must always keep as an heirloom in your family; and now, I beg of you to marry this brave and devoted monarch, who seeks your hand.”

At these words the Princess embraced the two Fairies, who invited her, with the King and Grimaçon, to go with them to the palace of the King. The released youths and maidens then dispersed to their several homes, and, mounting the chariot of the Fairy of the Green Woods, Moonflower soon reached the palace, followed by the King and the dwarf, who accompanied the other Fairy.

The nuptials of the King of the Crystal Mountains and Princess Moonflower were soon afterwards solemnised, and the two Fairies honoured the festivities with their presence; all those who had been rescued from the Enchanter’s cruelty by the King were invited, and the rejoicings lasted for twenty days, after which his Majesty made war upon the Princess’s aunt, and recovered her kingdom, killing the wicked Blackwig with his own hand.

A terrible fate was in store for the King’s proud and cruel mother. On the day of her son’s marriage she was returning in her chariot from the ceremony, much mortified and incensed by what had just taken place. Noticing, as she drove along, that her coachman had not brought out the team of horses she had ordered, and being already furious, she leaned forward to strike him with the golden sceptre in her hand, and, in so doing, overbalanced herself, and fell under the chariot-wheels, where she was almost crushed to death. She was conveyed to the palace with all speed, but, before she reached her apartments, she expired, muttering vengeance against everyone.

The fate of the dwarf Grimaçon was very different. He was made Prime Minister and was the most honoured person in the King’s dominions. The King and Queen never took any step without first consulting him, and he lived to an advanced age beloved by all, but especially by their Majesties, who went to visit him every day in a magnificent palace which they built for him close by their own.

THE DOVECOTE

In a wide stretch of pasture, in the middle of a lonely field, with its back to the bleak north blast which swept over the shuddering grasses, making them hum and sing like complaining voices, stood a Dovecote. The solid masonry of its walls, in the crevices of which tufts of stone-crop and shepherd’s purse had sown themselves, and the irregular outlines of the crow-steps which ran up either side of its slanting roof had been familiar to the sight of so many generations that, as it had remained unused within the memory of the oldest, no one thought more of it than if it had been a stone-heap in the road, nor noticed the curious fact of its never falling into disrepair. At each end of the roof, above the crow-steps, two large stone balls stood out against the sky, and on these the rooks, going home in the red sunsets to a neighbouring rookery, perched from year’s end to year’s end, and no one but themselves, or a few inquisitive sheep, who might rub their woolly heads against the walls, seemed to remember the existence of the solitary building. At some little distance behind it the land rose in a steep slope, rolling upwards to where a fringe of fir-trees looked down upon the Dovecote, the fields, and the scattered habitations below.

Anyone standing beside them might see over a vast area of land. Looking to the west, the hills rose in bold relief, and towards them ran a white road which lost itself now and then, only to reappear in patches till it faded into the distance; looking eastward, there lay spread a long stretch of wooded country, over which the lights and shadows floated and the clouds sailed before the west wind on their way to the sea, which could be seen on a sunny day lying like a blue sapphire upon the horizon. Looking straight southward towards the pastures, the sloping ground at the foot of the trees was all one fertile cornfield, as yet uncut, and, half way up it, where the hill was steepest, stood three elms, growing close together and making a dark spot of shade in the middle of the yellow grain. These were called “Maddy Norey’s trees.” What Maddy Norey’s history had been no one alive knew, but tradition said that she had lived in a small cottage under the shadow of the elms, and men ploughing the field in the late November days had run their ploughshares against deeply-embedded stones at their roots, and told each other that they had struck the foundations of Maddy Norey’s house. They did not know that the witch, Maddy Norey, was alive still, and living hardly out of the sound of their voices in the Dovecote.

But in spite of the lonely quiet of the old place, and the peace which seemed to brood over the standing corn, there was war and strife in the land. The young King, with his Queen, had been forced to fly from his palace, a fugitive and wanderer, not knowing where to seek shelter for his head; his step-brother, a wicked and unscrupulous man, having, with his plots and cunning and his smooth, lying tongue, stirred up the people in revolt against their sovereign. Through the treachery of some of the soldiery the palace gates had been broken down, the King’s capital was in the hands of the mob, and he and the Queen had made their escape, trying to reach the distant sea-board, and from it to take ship across the Northern Sea to a neighbouring land ruled by one of their closest allies.

Under cover of night they fled through the streets of the capital, passing unnoticed in the confusion, and slipping through the city gates deserted by the treacherous guards. Once in the open country, they hid themselves in the woods by day, and travelled forward on foot by night, hoping against hope to elude the pursuers sent out after their flight had become known, and to reach the nearest point of coast from which they might set sail for the friendly land opposite.

At last, after many days, they came to a place only a few dozen miles inland, and the King, who knew the country well, encouraged the weary Queen, telling her how short a space lay between them and the sea. They were on the borders of a birch-wood through which they had travelled all night, and, as they came out and saw the wide pasture stretched before them in the early light (for it was dawning) the Queen sank down on the ground, worn out, declaring that she could go no further.

At this the King was in despair, for day was breaking and there seemed to be no place of safety in which they could conceal themselves until night should come round again and cover the two lonely wanderers with her dark curtain.

“Lie still and rest,” said he, as he drew off his cloak and spread it over his wife, “I will go a little way forward and find some place in which we can shelter for to-day. Do not move until I come back. I shall not be long away.” And he wandered off into the field towards a strange pile of building which he saw rising like a watch-tower from the level plain.

When he reached it he found it to be a deserted Dovecote, and he walked round it, wondering why such a solid structure had been built for the harbouring of a few doves and pigeons.

As he passed round the north side he came upon a wooden door, so low that a man entering would be obliged to bend himself almost double, and he cleared away the nettles and tufts of ragwort which grew by the threshold, pushing with his shoulder against the half-rotten wood. The door opened easily.

The Dovecote was quite dark inside, and only the light from the open door behind him enabled the King to see a crazy staircase running up the side of the wall to what was apparently a room overhead. As he stood irresolute whether or not to venture up, another little door opened at the top of the flight and the bent form of an old woman peered out, illuminated by the sky-light in the ceiling of the room she had just left. The King stood amazed.

“And so you have come at last,” she said, in a voice which seemed far too soft to proceed from such a crooked body, “and why have you not brought the Queen? Do not be afraid,” she added, seeing the look of consternation on his face, “I have expected you for some time. I am Maddy Norey, and I have lived here for more years than you and the Queen put together could count if your ages were doubled twice over. Go at once and bring her back with you, for here she can find a safe hiding-place.”

The astonished King could only lean against the wall, and stare up at the strange figure above him.

“Go!” cried the old woman, stamping on the floor.

He turned to obey her, and began groping for the little door by which he had entered; but the more he went from wall to wall, the more amazed was he, for there was no sign nor vestige of such a thing.

Maddy Norey laughed softly.

“Now,” she said, “do you see how safe a castle mine is? If I had not chosen that you should see my door you might still be wandering round the walls among the briars outside. Is not this a safe retreat for the Queen?”

“Let me go, Maddy Norey, and bring her to you.” And as the King said this he perceived the open door close to him, with the sun’s early beams shooting through like golden lances and striking the cobwebs which hung from the lintel.

A short time later saw him standing in the birch-wood by the side of the Queen, who had fallen asleep from exhaustion among the silver stems. The leaves quivered in the breath of sunrise as they emerged together from the wood and took their way to the Dovecote. The wooden door was open to receive them, and Maddy Norey was at the top of her stair, peering down upon the Queen as she ascended, weary and faint, with her beautiful dark hair, which had slipped from its golden comb, falling in masses over her cloak.

“Now,” said the old woman, when they had reached her attic, “look round at my house and tell me what you think of it.”

The King and Queen were silent, for they knew not what to say. They saw nothing but a small bare room with a sky-light in the roof. The light was struggling in among the cobwebs and a cold air blew through the little row of holes among the tiles, by which bygone flocks of pigeons had entered to roost, or emerged to plume themselves in artless vanity on the slanting roof and the crow-steps outside. An oaken three-legged stool stood in one corner with an old-fashioned spinning-wheel beside it, and this was the only furniture or sign of a human inhabitant visible in the little attic.

Maddy Norey smiled.

“I can see your thoughts,” she said, turning to the King. “But you must not think that I have made no better preparation for the Queen than this. I know a great deal. I know that she will spend much time with me here, and I have arranged all that I can to help you in the time that is coming. Now look into that dark spot in the wall and tell me whether I have not prepared my house well for you.”

As she said this she raised her bent figure and spread out her arms widely. A thin blue mist drove across their vision like a smoke-cloud, and through it broke a glow as of burning coals. It rolled past them, leaving only a faint vapour, behind which they could see a thick hedge of fiery-hearted roses that seemed to burn like living embers. Through a division in the midst of this radiant tangle the light from the glowing flowers shone upon a floor and walls of black oak which could be seen behind it, reflecting itself in the polished darkness beyond, as stars reflect themselves in deep water; and, at the further end of the room, in an angle where the dark walls met, stood a bed carved with designs which could be only dimly seen, and hung with curtains of a rich deep colour that might have been either green or blue.

Then Maddy Norey took the Queen by the hand and led her through the roses into the soft darkness. She combed out her long hair, took from her her travel-stained garments, and made her lie down in the carved bed. Then her weary head sank back upon the pillows, her tired eyes closed, and she drifted away into a dreamless sleep under the blue hangings.

The King and Maddy Norey sat talking in the little dusty attic all that day and far into the evening. His gratitude knew no bounds when she said that he might leave his wife in her charge while he pursued his journey.

“When you arrive at the sea-shore,” she told him, “you will find a boat lying on the sand; you must manage so that you get there in two days from now, and during the night-time, when the fisherman to whom it belongs has gone home from fishing, and you must take the oars and row straight out to sea. You will find food and water for three days stored in the boat, for the owner is going a journey in it to an island some way off.”

“Maddy Norey,” said the young man, “promise me that you will care for the Queen.”

“I will,” answered the old woman, holding out her wrinkled hand. “But be advised, O King, and spare her the parting, for it may be a long parting, and even I do not know the end of it. She will never consent to let you go alone, which, by reason of the hardships you may have to undergo, is necessary. I might have to prevent her from going with you by not allowing her to find the door. Surely you will spare her this? Look,” and she pointed to the darkening sky-light, “it will soon be night, and there is no moon. Go _now_—at once. By to-morrow morning you will be many miles on your way, and if you conceal yourself during the day, another night’s travelling will bring you to the shore. Go; it is best.”

The King stood up.

“I may go in and look at her?” he said.

Maddy Norey nodded. “I will not wake her,” said he, “it would be too cruel.”

There was silence in the Dovecote for a few minutes before the King re-appeared. He made a sign of farewell to Maddy Norey and went down the rickety stairs, through the wooden door and out into the night alone.

When the Queen awoke next morning and found that he had gone, her heart seemed broken, and she lay weeping quietly in her carved bed.

“Why did I not awake when he came to say good-bye?” she sobbed in despair to Maddy Norey, who was sitting by her.

“My dear,” said the old woman, who did not tell her that she had caused her to sleep so soundly on purpose, “it was better it should be so, for it helped the King through it. And he hoped that you would be strong and keep a brave heart. You must summon all your courage and be helpful to him when he returns, for we do not know how soon that may be.”

With such words did Maddy Norey comfort the Queen. And she, when the first freshness of her grief was over, tried with all her strength to be cheerful and affectionate to the old woman who had done so much for them both. But every evening she used to steal away to a dark corner to weep a little and think of the King, perhaps still in hiding near the bleak coast, perhaps tossing alone on the sea.

When several days had gone by the Queen began to feel the monotony of her life very much, and to long with a great longing for the fresh air, as she dwelt in the cramped seclusion of the Dovecote. It was impossible that she should venture out alone, even for the smallest distance, in the rebellious state of the country, more especially as the search for the fugitive pair was still going on. But her strength and spirits were declining daily, and Maddy Norey began to fear that the confinement was telling upon her. One evening as they sat within the windowless walls which surrounded them, the Queen laid her hand on the witch’s knee.

“If I could only have one breath of air,” she sighed, “and one look at the fields and the sky. May I go to the door and out for just a short, short way into the pasture?”