Front matter (continued 2)

Wopole shook his head dismally as if he had quite expected it, and then he tried to pick up the other one; but just the same thing happened. Now the Princess had just been bending down to pick the book up as he bent down, and the wind blew her hair right across his eyes. He, feeling the tickling, put his hand up to his face and caught the hair before she could draw it away.

‘What is this now?’ he said, as he examined his hand. ‘Feels like hair,’ he mused. But in his fit of musing he let his fingers relax their grasp, and she drew her hair away very quickly.

‘I thought so,’ Wopole said. ‘It was only the hair—the wind, I mean. I wonder what’s the matter with the books, though? It must be the cabin that’s bewitched them. I won’t sleep in that cabin to-day. I’ll change my apartments at once.’

And he did. So, for the rest of the time, the Princess had the cabin all to herself, and she was quite contented; for Wopole was so sure that it was bewitched, that he moved his clothes and things out of it, and never came near it again.

And the Princess had decidedly the best of it; for Wopole slept all day and watched all night, and she kept awake all day and slept all night just as usual. So the time passed away, and every night the moon got larger and larger as they got nearer and nearer, until it was quite close.

They had been a fortnight and three days out before they came to the edge of the sea, but it was eight o’clock in the evening, and the moon had just left the water, as it flew into the air like a large—a very large—white bird.

‘What a confounded nuisance!’ Ernalie heard Wopole say. ‘Now I shall have to wait the whole of another day for it to rise above the sea; and then it’s so jolly dangerous.’

The Princess couldn’t help wondering why it was so jolly dangerous; and how, if it were dangerous, it could be jolly. So she asked—quite without thinking that she was invisible:

‘Why?’

‘Why, you dunderhead!’ retorted Wopole; ‘because we’re quite near the edge of the world, and if a strong wind should rise we should be blown right over it, and then we should fall right into the sun. See, stupid?’

The Princess replied meekly:

‘I thank you.’

‘I should think you ought to thank me,’ Wopole retorted angrily. ‘It’s bad enough to have spirits on board a temperance ship without having to talk to them.’

‘But I’m not a spirit,’ said Ernalie.

‘Then who are you?’

‘I’m——’ But she thought it best not to tell him more.

‘Oh, you are, are you?’ he replied. ‘Thanks for the information. I’m sure it wasn’t necessary for you to tell me so much, and I don’t want to know any more about you. Only, look here, I don’t know whether you want to be roasted?’

‘Of course not,’ answered the Princess.

‘Well, then, if a storm comes up it will blow us right over the world’s end into the sun; so look out. If the anchor holds, we are safe.’

‘What does the anchor hold?’ asked Ernalie.

‘The ground, of course. If it doesn’t, we shall have to hoist the sails and try to beat against the wind.’

‘I suppose you beat against the wind to make it run away?’ said Ernalie.

But Wopole replied gruffly:

‘No puns allowed on board. Now, if we have to beat against the wind, I shall have to manage the sails, so you must go to the helm.’

‘What is the helm?’ she asked.

‘That’s it,’ said Wopole, pointing to it.

‘Oh, that’s the helm; and what am I to do with it?’

‘Do what I tell you.’

‘Very well.’

‘That’s all.’

So the Princess, not seeing anything better to do, went down below to bed.

The night passed safely, and nearly the whole of the next day; but towards evening the wind began to get up. Wopole was on deck, and as he did not seem to wish to talk she let him alone. About seven the moon was to rise, and at about half-past five Ernalie went down to her cabin to get a book. She selected a small one that she had not noticed before. It was called ‘The Life and Surprising Adventures of Robinson Crusoe of Hull, Mariner, who——’ But before she had half finished the title-page—which, by the bye, is rather long—a sudden reeling of the vessel threw her right over to one corner of the room, and at the same time from above there sounded a shrieking as of ten thousand demons.

‘What on earth is that?’ she thought as well as she could, for she was lying in one corner of the room among chairs and various other articles of furniture. However, she got out of it as quickly as she could, and ran on deck, or at least she tried to run, for the vessel was rolling and pitching, and the shrieking continued to resound from above. At last she did reach the deck; but she rather wished she had stopped below, for the wind was so biting it nearly bit her hair off, and this same wind behaved so badly to the ropes of the vessel that they shrieked in their pain as the blast cut past them, causing the strange sounds that the Princess had heard below.

It was nearly as difficult to stand on deck as it had been in the cabin, and the spray that came dashing over the boat made it very difficult to see, for it got into her eyes and half blinded her.

However, she managed to steady herself by holding on to a rope, and in a few minutes she was able to see Wopole standing in the bow of the boat, and looking over the side. So she went towards him as well as she could, for the wind and spray came from over the bows. Nevertheless, she reached him somehow. He was leaning quietly against the bulwarks over the hawser-hole watching the straining cable, just as calm as if there were nothing in particular depending on whether the anchor held or not.

As soon as she could find her breath she touched him on the shoulder and shouted in his ear as loud as she could:

‘Will the rope break?’ But it was no use trying to out-roar the tempest—at least for her.

When Wopole felt something touch him on the shoulder he looked round.

‘Oh, it’s you, is it?’ she heard him cry. But the wind was still too high for her to answer. She only nodded; but she might have spared herself the trouble.

Presently, after she had waited some minutes in silence, the wind fell, almost as suddenly as it had risen.

‘Thank goodness! It’s over now,’ she said, and it was so quiet that Wopole overheard her easily.

‘Don’t hulloa till you’re out of the wood,’ he said. ‘Look there!’

The Princess did look, and she saw that the horizon was hidden by masses of white foam that rose and fell as if the sea were one great cauldron full of boiling water.

‘That’s the storm coming down again,’ Wopole went on. ‘Hurry to the helm and put it hard down when I hoist the sail, for the cable will snap like thread before it. Quick—quick!’

The Princess ran like lightning along the deck, for the sea was quite quiet, and the vessel hardly pitched at all, and she reached the helm in a very few minutes.

When she got there she stood still and listened. Everything was quiet and still; the vessel only rolled slightly, and the cordage creaked uneasily, as if it feared the coming strain that it would have to stand. From where the sea boiled a noise came—so low and grumbling that it might have been the faint growl of an angry cat before it makes a spring.

Just then Wopole looked towards the helm:

‘Mind and put it hard down!’ he shouted.

‘I wonder why he wants me to put it down,’ she thought.

But before she could ask the storm was upon them again. Swifter than the arrow leaps from the bow it came, and the churned sea fled from the attack of the wind like a mighty white horse. The flying scud and rain beat mercilessly against her face; but she held bravely to the tiller, and stemmed the storm as well as she could, with her eyes shut and her teeth set.

The noise the storm made would have frightened Neptune himself; but high over it she heard Wopole shout:

‘The cable’s parted! Hard down!’

And she pressed on the tiller as hard as she could; but the stubborn bar refused to go down, and though she leant her whole weight on it, it only fell away to one side, and she had only strength to lie against it in vain hope of putting it down. Just then the sail began to raise itself, and the vessel seemed to feel its influence, for it was turning slowly round. Suddenly she saw Wopole appear in the mist of rain.

‘Let me have the tiller!’ he shouted; and she let go. Instantly he seized it and pushed it the other way with all his might.

But at this critical moment a disaster happened, that made it look as if everything had conspired against them. The tiller broke in half under the strong hands of Wopole, and before they could wink the vessel had turned its back to the wind, and they were carried at racing speed towards the end of the world. They had but a mile or so to go, and a mile is soon covered.

The last part of the journey was through a thick mist; but it didn’t much matter to Ernalie.

‘Anyhow, Wopole won’t be able to cut the strings,’ she thought.

Just then the fog began to get lighter, as if some great fire were just outside it, and in a few seconds they burst through the veil of mist into a light so blinding that the Princess could not keep her eyes open.

‘This must be the sun we’ve fallen into,’ she thought. ‘But it doesn’t seem very hot.’ Then there was a bump, as if the boat had run into a lump of mud, and then a greasy slide, and then Ernalie fainted.

When she came to herself, she heard voices close to her. One sounded like the voice of an old man, and the other, she was quite sure, was that of Wopole; but she had never heard him so polite before. They had evidently only just met, for Wopole was saying:

‘I am very happy to make your acquaintance, sir. May I trouble you to tell me your name?’

‘It’s a great deal of trouble,’ grumbled the other; ‘but I’ll tell you. I’m the Man.’

‘How strange—I too happen to be a man.’

‘You’re only a man. I’m the Man.’

‘The Man in the Moon, I should think?’ said Wopole.

‘Exactly,’ answered the voice.

‘Why, we must be in the moon,’ thought the Princess; and it was the case, for the ship had run right over the edge of the world on to the moon, which had been hidden behind the clouds.

‘I’ll just go and look at him,’ she said to herself, and so she sat up to look where the voices came from. ‘They seem to be behind the sail,’ she went on. So she walked to the sail, and peeped round the corner, and there sure enough he was.

I daresay you’ve often seen the Man in the Moon—at all events, you ought to have. Perhaps you mayn’t have; if so, this is what the Princess saw.

He was a very old man, and looked very much as if he was in his second childhood, and he carried an enormous lanthorn, which made him even more bent than he might have been if he had not carried it so often. On his shoulders he carried a bundle of thorns, which appeared to prick him and cause him a good deal of uneasiness generally; and besides this he had an ugly little dog by his side, which made continual attacks on Wopole’s shins, and it made such a noise with its barking that the old man in a temper aimed a vicious kick at it; but he missed his mark, and the weight of the lanthorn overbalancing him he sat down rather suddenly, and during the rest of the evening he remained there.

But the conversation proceeded just as if nothing in particular had happened.

‘Being the Man in the Moon, perhaps you would be so kind as to direct me to the place where the Misses Parker reside?’ Wopole said.

‘That I won’t,’ said the Man. ‘Why should I?’

‘I thought that you might be so good as to direct me, and I had intended presenting you with a loaf of bread. However, that does not matter. Good-day. I daresay I shall find the house by myself,’ and Wopole made preparations for getting over the side of the vessel.

But the Man no sooner heard the word ‘bread’ than he became very eager to help him on the way.

‘Oh, wait a minute,’ he said; and Wopole accordingly waited.

‘If you’ll give me two loaves I’ll show you,’ he went on.

‘I’ll give you one now, and the other when I have paid my visit and am safely back on the ship.’

‘Well, that’ll do. Give me the one, and I’ll show you at once.’

So Wopole went to the hatch which covered the pantry and took out a large loaf, which he handed to the old Man.

‘Now trot,’ he said; and the Man hurried to the side of the vessel and scrambled down as well as he could, followed by Wopole and the Princess.

It was curious how bright it was when they got over the side; for although it was past nine o’clock p.m. by the Princess’s watch, the ground itself seemed to shoot out light, and what was still more funny, they threw no shadows, although that was easily explained; for as the moon itself provided the light, it would be rather difficult to throw a shadow on the moon.

They plodded on for some time in silence; but although the old Man hobbled very much he managed to get along very fast, almost too fast for the Princess, for the walking was very heavy.

Presently Wopole said:

‘How soft the ground is; is it all the same about here?’

‘Of course it is. It’s all cheese; and you don’t want hard cheese.’

‘I don’t want cheese at all,’ said Wopole.

‘You’d want it if you were me,’ remarked the old Man.

‘Why?’ asked Wopole.

‘Because it’s all there is to eat in the moon, and if it were hard I shouldn’t be able to eat it.’

‘Oh, I see; but why don’t you come to the earth? You’d make your fortune in a show.’

The Man shook his head sadly.

‘I did try once; but I got my mouth burnt, and I shan’t try again.’

‘Why, how was that?’ asked Wopole.

‘Don’t you know the song?’ said the old Man in astonishment.

‘Not I.’

‘Then I’ll sing it.’

And forthwith he began to sing:

The Man’s voice itself was about as melodious as that of a peacock; but in the final ‘O’ of the song he was joined by his dog and Wopole, who both sang—or rather bawled—a wrong note; and as each was proud of his voice the ‘O’ was prolonged indefinitely, and it might have been kept up till doomsday, only, just at that moment, they happened to turn the corner of a heap of cheese and came in sight of a cottage at some distance off.

‘That’s the cottage where they live,’ said the old Man.

And no sooner did the Princess hear his words than she started off at a run towards it.

‘I must get there before him,’ she said; and so she went as fast as she could over the soft cheese. She really needn’t have hurried so much, for Wopole and the old man had stopped, and it might have saved her a world of trouble if she had listened to what they said; but she didn’t.

When she reached the cottage she stopped a moment to gain breath; but that was soon done, and she went to the door and tapped. No answer came; so she lifted the latch gently and walked in as quietly as she could.

‘There goes that door,’ she heard an ill-tempered voice say.

‘I shouldn’t take the trouble to close it again if I were you. It’s the fifth time it’s blown open to-day.’ This was in another voice.

It was impossible for the Princess to see where the voice came from, for the cottage was so dark after the light outside that for some moments it was quite as black as night. However, gradually her eyes became accustomed to the twilight, for the open door did let in a good deal of light.

What she did see, however, did not please her eyes much, for the three sisters, to whom Wopole gave the name of Parker—they are called the Parcae generally—were about as ugly as they make them; and as they were twins—that is, triplets—there was not much to choose between them.

The room in the cottage was very large, and at the wall at one end a large number of frames stood on which were nailed reels, and from every reel came a silver thread, and over every reel a small placard was placed on which was written a name—the name of the owner of the thread.

Behind the frames stood one of the Fates, who took off used-up reels and placed new ones in their stead; though how she did it the Princess could not tell, for the Fates, as well as Love, are blind. Yet she did it.

Between the reels and the last of the three sisters sat one clothed in black, who held in her hand scissors wherewith she severed certain of the threads—threads of those that die on earth. Last of the three sat one who twisted all the threads into one great rope that ran from her hands down a fathomless pit to the earth.

And so they all sat silently working busily, with no other sound than the clipping of the scissors as their owner cut remorselessly here and there, surely and safely—she needed no eyes.

But the Princess heeded little of this, for she was seeking out two names. The names were arranged in townships, so she had but little difficulty in finding them; and she changed the names that stood over the strings. Over Wopole’s she put the name of Treblo, and over Treblo she put Wopole’s name.

‘It is the only way to stop him killing Treblo. As for the others, Abbonamento and Araminta, if Wopole cuts his own string and dies, he will not be able to cut theirs; but if he die not instantly and cut the other strings, I will knot them together again quickly. And I will also knot together Wopole’s own thread, for he has done me no harm, and once he saved my life; only, he must not kill Treblo.’

When she had got thus far, the light that came through the door was interrupted for a moment, and Wopole entered.

He stopped for a few minutes to accustom his eyes to the faint light. Then the Princess heard him mutter:

‘Lucky for me the old ladies are blind and deaf. Here are his own scissors to cut his own thread. That is to fight him with his own tools—and I shall win.’

And then he walked towards the sets of threads.

In a few moments he had found the thread marked ‘Treblo,’ and reaching out the scissors he cut it through. But he dropped the scissors almost instantly.

‘What a pain I have in my side,’ he said. ‘I won’t cut any more threads if it’s to hurt me like this each time. Old Abbonamento and Araminta won’t last long after their son; and as for the lovely Princess, Mumkie promised her to me, so I won’t cut your string, Ernalie.’

‘Thank you,’ said Ernalie herself, so quietly that Wopole did not notice it, and he left the house in somewhat of a hurry.

‘I’ll just join his thread, and then I’ll join him again; and so there’s not much harm done.’

But it was not quite so easy to join the threads as it looked, for part of the thread that went towards the earth moved on, while that which came from the reel stood still. However, she pulled the thread rapidly from the reel, and she managed to tie the two parts together before they reached the lady with the scissors, and so the thread passed on its way without notice.

‘That’s all right,’ said she thankfully, and she left the house to follow Wopole.

He, however, had already passed the turning and was out of sight, so she followed; but when she too had turned the corner he was nowhere to be seen. However, she was quite sure of the road, so she went leisurely on; but each hillock was so like the other, and there was no mark to guide her, for no trees grew on the cheese. And so little by little she began to feel convinced that she had lost her way, and though she wandered on for hours and hours she came to no trace of anything that would guide her to the vessel.

But at last she came to some footsteps in the cheese, and she was now quite sure of being in the right track. So she ran on as fast as she could, and she really was on the right path, and soon she came in sight of the sea, and then she saw the vessel, but it was sailing away from her as fast as it could, and although she shouted and cried to Wopole to come back and fetch her, he took no notice.

‘Wopole! Wopole!’ she shrieked; but the wind carried her voice away, and did not bring back Wopole.

Again she called:

‘Wopole!’

‘What is the use of making all that noise?’ said a voice that came from close to her side, and when she looked round she saw the Man, sitting on his bundle of sticks, eating the bread ravenously, and scooping up pieces of the moon-cheese from his side.

‘What is the use of making all that noise?’ he said again, bad-temperedly.

‘I want Wopole to come back and fetch me,’ said the Princess.

‘I daresay he’d feel flattered if he knew; but he doesn’t. It’s no use howling. By the bye, I forgot to tell you—“This lanthorn doth the horned moon present.”’

‘But what has that got to do with my getting home?’ said the Princess.

‘I don’t know; but it’s my home. Look, the sea’s rising.’

The Princess looked round in alarm, for she was afraid of getting her feet wet; but though the sea was rising, it did not hurt the moon at all, for, you see, the water belonged to the earth, and so, while the moon sank lower and lower, the water remained like a solid wall above them, but did not close over them. The light of the moon attracted the fishes and strange monsters of the deep, and the Princess saw them as calmly as if they had been part of a large aquarium. She looked at them for some time; but a strange sound behind her made her turn round:

‘I am about to sing a serenade,’ said the Man.

‘Please don’t,’ said the Princess.

‘I’m sure you’d like to hear it. “I’ll sing you songs of Araby,”’ he said.

‘But I don’t care about Araby.’

‘You really must listen. Come, now, do hear.’

And he began waving his arms to and fro, roaring:

But he sang it to the tune of the moonlight sonata.

The Princess did not wait to hear. She put her fingers in her ears, and ran off as fast as she could; but still she heard the burden:

‘Ah, Angeline! ah, lady mine!’

And he seemed to keep it up for a long while. However, after she had gone some miles the sound died away in the distance, and all was quiet.

The Princess now sat down to rest, and to look at the earth, for the moon had dipped underneath it by this time, and she could see Australia and New Zealand and various of the other lands of the Antipodes.

Her attention was drawn away from the earth to the moon by a sound that seemed like the rolling of wheels. It was still distant, but approached rapidly, and in a few moments a chariot, drawn by two milk-white stags with golden horns, dashed past close to her, and rolled over a hill near by, as easily as if they had been bubbles blown by the wind.

But the Princess did not look much at the stags or the chariot; the thing that took her attention was the driver. A woman you could hardly have called her; for, though she was clad in the garb of a huntress, it was easy to see who she was, for who but Diana carried a silver bow?

‘Dear me!’ said Ernalie, ‘this must be the Goddess of the moon. I’ll go to her and tell her everything, and ask her to take me back to the earth when she goes. For she must go to the earth sometimes since she’s the Goddess of the chase; there’s nothing to hunt here except cheese-mites, and they’re not great sport for such a mighty huntress.’

So she followed as fast as she was able to the top of the hill over which the chariot had disappeared; but it had gone so fast that it had passed out of sight over another range of hills. However, the hoof and wheel marks were plainly shown on the white surface of the cheese. So she went on and on, following the tracks, until, just as she was beginning to despair, she came to the brow of a hill, and in a valley beneath she saw a large building, in appearance something like a Grecian temple, except that instead of stone it was made of cheese.

In front of the building was a large heap of skins of various animals, piled up so high that they made a sort of couch on which the Goddess was lying up to dinner; for it was the fashion among the gods to lie up or rather down, instead of sitting up to table.

The two white stags which had been harnessed to the chariot were playfully butting at each other with their golden horns, and the chariot itself was tilted on its back, just as you would see an ordinary two-wheeled cart nowadays.

But the Princess was not particularly interested in this—to tell the truth, she was feeling remarkably hungry and thirsty, for she had been already for some hours without tasting anything at all.

‘I wonder if I’m invisible to the gods as well as to man,’ she thought. ‘I’ll just try if I am, at all events.’

So she went towards the Goddess, who was eating the food that lay on the table in front of the couch; but Diana did not appear to notice her, and she advanced more boldly until she was quite close to the table.

‘She doesn’t seem to have much variety,’ thought the Princess, at least she meant to think.

‘Do you think so?’ said Diana, looking up in some astonishment to where the voice came from. ‘And who asked you to say so? and who are you, and where are you, and why can’t I see you? Tell me, or I’ll shoot you.’

‘I don’t exactly see how you can,’ said the Princess.

The Goddess seized her bow and looked for her quiver; but even as she reached out her hand to take it, it vanished, for Ernalie was too fast for her.

Diana looked more and more astonished and annoyed.

‘Who are you?’ she said. ‘Are you a mortal?’

‘Certainly I am,’ said Ernalie.

‘Then how is it I can’t see you?’ asked the Goddess.

‘Because of the feather, I suppose,’ said the Princess.

‘You don’t mean to say you’ve got the feather? Tell me how you got it?’

The Princess did as she was told, for she saw no use in making the Goddess angry.

When she had finished, Diana said:

‘You have been lucky, whoever you are. The feather belonged to one of Jupiter’s eagles, and this eagle got angry and flew at Jove because he gave its brother eagle more than its share of food. So he banished the eagle to the earth, and it got shot. I would give anything for the feather.’

‘But I wouldn’t part with it for any price,’ said Ernalie.

‘I’ll give you anything you like for it, you know,’ said the Goddess.

‘But I won’t part with it,’ said Ernalie. ‘Besides, I’ve got your arrows, and I won’t give them back to you for nothing.’

‘What a plague you are! What do you want for the arrows?’

‘First, you must promise not to steal the feather from me.’

‘Well, I’ll promise that,’ said the Goddess.

‘Then promise not to do me any harm.’

‘Very well.’

‘And lastly, take me safely back to the earth.’

‘I should be only too glad if you had never come near me,’ said the Goddess. ‘However, I promise them all. Now give me the arrows.’

The Princess gave the arrows back, for the word of Diana was not to be doubted.

‘I wish you would show yourself to me,’ the Goddess went on; ‘I should like to see you very much. I wonder what sort of a person you are? Do show yourself.’

So the Princess took off the cap in which she wore the feather, but as soon as it was off Diana vanished; for, you see, it was the feather touching her head that gave Ernalie the power of seeing without being seen, and a goddess is naturally invisible. But the Princess did not think of that.

‘It must be some trick,’ she thought. So she put the feather back in a hurry, but the Goddess had not moved. She was smiling quietly.

‘Can’t you trust me, child?’ she said; ‘for you aren’t much more than a child, you know.’

‘I’m grown up, at any rate,’ said the Princess indignantly. ‘I’m nineteen years old, so I’m not so very young.’

‘And I’m nineteen thousand years old,’ said the Goddess, ‘and I don’t look so very old, do I?’

‘You certainly don’t. But then, you see, you’re a goddess and I’m a mortal, and it makes a difference.’

‘It does,’ said Diana. ‘But do show yourself to me again.’

‘But if I make myself visible, you disappear,’ said Ernalie.

‘Oh, I had forgotten that. However, I’ll make myself visible too.’

So when Ernalie took the feather away this time Diana was easily visible.

‘And you want to go back to the earth, do you?’ asked Diana.

‘I do, very much,’ answered the Princess.

‘And why?’

‘Because the moon has got so little to eat on it.’

‘Really!’ said the Goddess. ‘There’s plenty of cheese, isn’t there?’

‘But I don’t like cheese, and especially green cheese. I hate it.’

‘Do you, really? What a pity it is you’re not a mouse,’ said the Goddess.

‘But I’m not,’ said Ernalie, ‘and that settles it.’

‘She might offer me some of her food,’ she thought to herself.

‘You wouldn’t be able to eat it if you had it,’ said the Goddess, who seemed to hear what she thought just as well as what she said.

‘Why shouldn’t I?’ asked Ernalie.

‘Because it’s ambrosia; and if you once ate any of it you’d never be able to eat any other kind of food, which would be rather awkward for you.’

‘Why?’ asked the Princess.

‘You’re always asking “Y.” Why don’t you use some other letter—“Z” for instance; it gets so monotonous. Now tell me who you are, and all about yourself.’

So the Princess did as she was told.

‘It would never do to offend her if she’s going to take me back to the earth,’ she thought, and the Goddess remarked:

‘Quite right.’

When she had finished, the Goddess said:

‘You shouldn’t have interfered with the Fates. Even Jupiter daren’t do that, and I’d as soon go near them as I would pat Cerberus.’

‘But what could I do? I didn’t want Wopole to kill himself.’

‘I don’t see why not,’ said the Goddess. ‘Why did you come at all? If Wopole and the other chose to fall out I don’t see why you should meddle to save him.’

‘But I couldn’t let Wopole kill Treblo.’

‘Why not?’ asked the Goddess.

‘Because he was my foster-brother, and he was going to marry me, and I’m sure I didn’t want my husband to be liable to drop down dead at any moment.’

The Goddess looked angry at this.

‘Why shouldn’t he? He’s only a man, and I hate men—nasty, vulgar things! And you were going to marry him? If I’d known that I’d never have spoken a word to you. Don’t you know I’m the Goddess of Chastity, and I’ve sworn never to marry? The sooner you go the better.’

‘But I can’t go. I’ve got nowhere to go to; and besides, you promised to take me back to the earth,’ said Ernalie.

‘I suppose I did,’ said the Goddess. ‘Besides, I don’t want to have you always here. Well, the moon will begin to rise in half an hour, and then I’ll take you in my chariot, that’s the only thing to do; so you can help me to harness the stags.’

This was soon done, and the Goddess went into the house to put away the remains of the food on which she had been dining. When she came out again Ernalie noticed that she had made a considerable change in her costume. What the change was I don’t exactly know, but she said to Ernalie:

‘You see I have to dress lightly to follow the chase easily. However, if you’re ready, I am.’

So saying, she slung her quiver full of arrows over her back, and taking the silver bow in her hand, got into the chariot.

‘Get up,’ she said to Ernalie, for the stags were already pawing the ground in their eagerness to be off. Ernalie jumped in quickly, and the stags darted off at an immense pace. They went so smoothly, however, that the Princess was not at all shaken or jolted. On over hills and through valleys, until it almost made her head swim at the way in which the scenery shot past. However, in a few minutes the roar of the waves sounded in her ears, and they came over the hill-top to the sea-beach. Just then the Goddess drew the reins in, and the stags stopped short.

‘What on earth is that?’ she said.

Now that the chariot had stopped, the Princess too could hear the sound that came faintly borne on the breeze:

‘When moonlight o’er the azure seas.’

‘Why, it’s the Man,’ she said.

‘So it is,’ said Diana angrily. ‘I recognise his voice. He calls it “mezzo-soprano.” It’s dreadful. I told him never to sing unless he had somebody to sing to. Of course I thought no one would ever come to the moon. I wonder whom he’s singing to?’

‘I rather imagine he thinks he’s singing to me,’ said the Princess hesitatingly. ‘I begged him not to sing; but he insisted. So I ran away, and I suppose he thinks I’m still there, for, you see, he can’t see me.’

‘Oh, he thinks you’re still there, does he?’ said Diana. ‘Just make yourself invisible, and I’ll do the same, and we’ll go a little closer.’

The Princess did as she was told, and Diana urged the stags in the direction of the voice.

The rattling of the wheels was quite drowned in the noise of the Man’s voice, as he sang:

‘You’ve improved a good deal in that last line,’ said the Goddess. ‘I wish you’d sing it over again.’

‘You are there then?’ said the Man. ‘I thought you had gone away. I couldn’t get you to answer when I spoke to you.’

‘Ah! that was because I was too enchanted for words to express. Now, do sing the last line again. Only the last line; it is so fine,’ said Diana.

The Man drew in a long breath:

‘And you’ll remember, re . member me . e . e.’

At the sound of his voice the Princess put her hands to her ears, and Diana had the greatest difficulty in keeping the stags from turning tail and bolting right away. However, she managed to quieten them, and took a good grip of her whip handle, and the consequence was that the last line came out:

‘And you’ll remember me . . e . . ow—ow!’

for the whip stung a good deal.

‘I hope you’ll remember me—ow—ow,’ said the Goddess calmly, as she suddenly appeared to him, turning the chariot towards the sea.

‘You don’t mind getting a little wet?’ she continued, turning to the Princess. ‘We’re going over the water.’

And she gave the reins to the stags, who sprang wildly down the steep slope into the sea. For a moment the Princess thought that there might be rather too much of a good thing, even if that good thing were riding in a chariot along with a goddess; for the chariot plunged deep into a high wave, and it seemed to the Princess as if it never did intend to come to the surface again. However, it did come up, and that was some comfort, although the Princess was dripping all over with the sea-water.

But the stags were once more darting onwards, for the chariot ran as lightly over the waves as over the land, and they went at such a rate that although the great breakers chased them, and even curled right over them, they were never so much as touched by the spray that the wind blew from off the crests of the waves.

So they dashed on through the blue water that coiled up over the front of the chariot but fell back when it saw the Goddess. On and on they went, and as they got farther out the waves became steeper and steeper, until it seemed as if they were going over very mountainous land indeed, for they rose over every wave.

Suddenly the Goddess said:

‘This is a little too much,’ and drew the stags in.

The great waves rolled on like angry hounds hungering for their prey; but the Goddess motioned with her hand:

‘Down, down!’ she cried. ‘Know ye me?’

And the waves sank, like hounds to whom their master shows his whip, and instantly it fell a deep calm over the whole sea. Then the Goddess lashed on the deer again, and once more they sped on over the sea, and the chariot wheels cut two deep white furrows in the deep blue, and in the moonlight Ernalie could see the two straight white lines glistening right away to the horizon—for they went so quickly that there was no time for the foam to die away, before it was out of sight. So they kept on for a long while, and gradually the moon rose in the sky, and then fell lower and lower, and still they journeyed on. Then the moon set, the stars gradually faded from sight, and the hot rays of the morning sun began to turn the eastern sky yellow.

Suddenly the Goddess pulled up the stags.

‘There’s the land,’ she said, pointing to a low blue line on the horizon. ‘We must rise into the air now, for we are getting near the place where ships ply to and fro on the sea, and if the sailors saw the two white trails of the chariot wheels they would say it was the sea-serpent, and I don’t want to be called a snake—it’s most insulting. So if you’re inclined to be giddy you’d better sit in the bottom of the car.’

But the Princess said:

‘Oh no. I’m never giddy, however great the height may be.’

So Diana gave the word to the stags, and they began to rise from the water in a spiral line upwards as an eagle soars in chase of a swan.

When they had reached a sufficiently great height, the Goddess once more let loose the reins, and the deer bounded forward again like an arrow released from a bow.

Swiftly they neared the land; but from where they were nothing could be seen of the things on it. Everything was blurred into one mass, as if it had been a map spread out below them.

So they sped on again for a time, and the fresh morning air blew cool on Ernalie’s face, and almost made her shiver, though by this time her garments were dry again, and blew out like a cloud behind her, as if they had been of thin gauze, though they were really of far thicker and heavier material.

Suddenly a thought struck Ernalie.

‘Where are you going to take me?’ she asked as well as she could, for the wind blew her words down her throat.

The Goddess smiled somewhat maliciously, Ernalie thought, and checked the course of the stags that she might speak with greater ease.

‘You shall see,’ she said.

‘But I should like to know beforehand.’

‘I only promised to take you back to the earth,’ said Diana.

‘But you promised to do me no harm,’ said Ernalie dismally, ‘and if you leave me in the middle of a desert you’ll do me a lot of harm.’

‘But I’m not going to put you down into the middle of a desert,’ said Diana. ‘Look, we are descending. Now, see if you recognise the country you pass over.’

The Princess looked over the edge of the chariot, and she saw that the stags were descending in great spiral curves, and at each curve the earth flew up nearer and nearer to meet them. As they got lower down Ernalie could see what was below more clearly, as if she had been looking through an opera glass, and was only just commencing to get the right focus. When they were quite close the Goddess stopped the descent of the chariot.

‘Now, do you recognise where you are?’ she asked.

But Ernalie shook her head.

‘I only see that we are over the tops of a range of mountains that have snow on their peaks,’ she said. ‘But I was never here before—that I am quite certain of.’

The Goddess shook the reins, and again the stags flew forward; but this time not so fast as they had gone before.

‘You have been here before,’ she said. ‘And at just this height, and at just this speed, only you were going in the opposite direction.’

‘Why,’ said Ernalie, ‘I must be in my own country. Oh, how cruel of you to take me away from my Prince, and you promised to do me no harm.’

‘I am doing you no harm,’ said the Goddess. ‘To prevent you marrying is not harm—it is good.’

But the Princess said:

‘No! no! it is harm. I would give anything to be back with him.’

‘Would you give your feather?’ said the Goddess eagerly.

‘No, not that,’ said the Princess.

‘I will give you anything you like for it,’ said the Goddess. ‘Anything——’

But the Princess said scornfully:

‘Not so, Goddess. I will get back to my love in spite of you. If I can do nothing better I will pray to Venus and offer her the feather.’

The Goddess looked angrily at her, and it almost seemed as if her eyes shot fire.

‘If it were not for my promise,’ she said, ‘I would hurl you from the car; but as it is, I will put you safely down.’

But the Princess smiled in spite of herself.

‘Do you, then, hate Venus so much, great Goddess?’ she asked. ‘Well, you have really done me much good, and therefore I promise never to give the feather to any other goddess save you alone.’

Diana looked very much relieved; for, to tell the truth, the goddesses in those days were very jealous of one another, and Diana could not bear the thought that any one else should have the feather if she could not get it.

So for a few minutes she was silent; and then suddenly she drew in the stags.

‘I am going to set you down here,’ she said, and they plunged into the darkness below. For you must know that though they were high up, and the rays of the sun, still below the horizon, fell on them, yet, beneath them, everything was dark in the shadow of the mountains.

The chariot sank slowly until it rested on the ground, but it was still so dark that the Princess could see nothing.

‘Get out,’ said Diana; ‘you are quite safe here.’ And the Princess obeyed. ‘Now remember,’ the Goddess went on, ‘I have kept my promises. Remember to keep yours. Give the feather to no one except to me, unless I send Iris for it. To her alone give it, for she is the messenger of the goddesses.’

The Princess once more promised, and Diana shook the reins, and the chariot once more darted up through the air and out of the lower darkness into the sunlight, until it was so high that it vanished altogether from her sight.

So the Princess looked wearily down again, and the earth around her seemed doubly dark by contrast.

‘I wonder where on earth I am,’ she said, and then she took two or three steps forward, but she came against a stone parapet or wall, or something. ‘I wonder what this is,’ she said to herself. ‘I think I shall stop where I am till daylight; it won’t be very long now, and I’m safe here at any rate.’

So she leant on the wall and waited; but even though the dawn was near it seemed long in coming.

But presently over the mountains in the east a yellow light stole, changing the silence of darkness for the clamorous speech of light, and the river flowing placidly in front was turned to liquid gold with the yellow of the dawn, and a sense of yellow-fringed gray mist was on everything, and forms erstwhile veiled discovered themselves.

‘Why, wherever am I?’ said Ernalie, rubbing her eyes in astonishment. ‘I seem to have been here before! Yes, there’s the fountain and the rose-bushes, and—why, this must be the terrace of my father’s Palace! Just where I was when the eagle carried me off. I wonder if the swans are still here,’ and she walked to the other side of the terrace and looked over the marble parapet into the water.

‘Yes, there they are.’ And on the marble steps that led down to the water the swans were asleep, each on one leg, with its neck coiled up on its back, and head under its wing. On hearing the footsteps of the Princess one of them looked lazily up as if it had been waked too soon, and then it shook its head, yawned, put down its other leg and waddled slowly to the water, into which it jumped with a splash that woke the others up; and they followed dreamily, being unused to the chill of the water so early.

A cock crowed, and his challenge was answered from far and near, and woke up the sparrows, who came down to the fountain for a shower-bath in the sparkling spray. They were followed by the pigeons, who, after cooing a little, stretched their wings and circled away on their morning flight. So, by degrees, the world awoke as the day took a firmer grasp on the land and the light grew stronger.

‘I wish they’d open the doors and let me get in,’ the Princess said. But as yet there seemed no sign of any one waking up.

‘Ah, well,’ she said resignedly, ‘I’ve waited six years to come home—I suppose I can wait a few more hours.’

So she quietly walked to the rose-bushes and plucked one or two of the great red damask roses, and chafing the petals off between her hands, threw the handfuls of them at the swans, who hissed and snapped as the mass of red leaves fell over them. It was some time since they had been subjected to such treatment; however, they seemed to get used to it again pretty easily.

Thus the Princess managed to while away about half an hour, and then she noticed smoke coming out of one of the chimneys.

‘They must be up in the kitchen,’ she thought. ‘I’ll just go and knock at the door and get let in.’

Accordingly she went and knocked softly at the door, and an angry voice shouted out:

‘Come in, do! and don’t stand knocking there. I’ve got the King’s boots to black, and his eggs and bacon to cook, and I’ve only got three hours to do it in. I haven’t got time.’

So the Princess lifted the latch and walked in.

‘Is the King up, cook?’ she asked.

‘No, he’s not! lazy old man as he is,’ said the cook, looking up angrily. ‘But where are you? Come out from behind that door.’

‘Oh! I had forgotten,’ said the Princess.

She meant, of course, she had forgotten about the feather, but the cook didn’t know that.

‘You’d forgotten, had you?’ she exclaimed. ‘I’ll teach you to forget if I catch you!’

‘But you won’t, my dear cook,’ said the Princess sweetly.

‘You’ll catch it if you don’t look out!’ howled the cook, as she rose from the floor where she had been cleaning the boots, and in doing so she knocked over an enormous pot of liquid blacking.

‘That’s your doing!’ she cried, as she made a dash at the door.

But the Princess evaded her easily, and she ran outside fully expecting to find the invisible questioner there. But the Princess meanwhile walked through the kitchen and up the back-stairs to her own room.

The room was just as she had left it when she went away, except that the bed seemed to have grown rather small for her, or rather she had grown too large for the bed.

However, she went in, and locking the door, laid herself down on the bed, and soon dropped off to sleep; for, as you may imagine, she was rather tired, for she had not slept for nearly two days—that is, ever since she had first reached the moon.

It did not seem that she had slept three minutes before she was awakened by a tremendous noise below-stairs.

‘I wonder what that is,’ she said. ‘I think I’ll get up and see.’

And she went to the wash-hand stand to wash the sea-water off her face, but the soap, from long want of use, had cracked in all directions, and she had to content herself with the water that was in the jug. Then she brushed her hair, which was full of salt, and after that tried to brush the salt off her dress; for the sea-water had dried on it, and had left it shining all over with the salt. Before she had quite finished, however, the noise that had waked her sounded again. It seemed as if some one were running downstairs very hard.

So the Princess took her hat off, not wishing to be invisible any more, for a time at least, and then, opening the door, she walked quietly downstairs.

There seemed to be no one about, and except that a terrible hurly-burly proceeded from the whereabouts of the kitchen, one would never have told that any one in the whole house was awake.

However, just then the clock in the hall struck eight, and a page came rushing downstairs.

‘Breakfast! breakfast!’ he shouted, quite without noticing the Princess, and he almost passed her before he saw her; but she stopped him.

‘Where is the King?’ she said.

‘The King is in his counting—that is, I mean the breakfast-room. But you can’t see him.’

‘But I must,’ said the Princess.

‘Well, of course, if you must——’

The Princess interrupted him.

‘Don’t you know who I am?’ she said.

‘No, I don’t; and I don’t want to,’ said the page. ‘Perhaps you’re the person who brings home the washing, or the kitchen-maid. If you are, I wouldn’t like to be in your shoes. The King is so jolly wild about his eggs and bacon being late that——’

But the Princess didn’t wait to hear any more; she walked straight towards the door of the breakfast-room. At the door two guards were stationed; but as they were old and crusted—that is, trusted—they remembered the Princess, and only saluted with their swords, wishing her ‘good-morning’—for they were far too well bred to express surprise or joy at sight of her. One of them opened the door for her, and said in a loud voice:

‘The Princess, your Majesty.’

The King was seated in a chair with his back to the door, and did not seem to hear what the man said. He only nodded, and did not look up from the papers he was reading.

So the Princess stole quietly up behind him, and put her fingers over his eyes—she always was rather irreverent.

‘Guess who I am,’ she said to the struggling monarch.

‘I won’t,’ he spluttered, for he was rather enraged.

‘Think a minute, papa,’ she said encouragingly.

‘I never should have thought of being assaulted in such a way,’ said the King, who had given up struggling, finding it no use.

So the Princess drew her hands away, and kissed him on the top of his bald head.

The King darted away out of the chair as soon as he was released, and that so violently that he fell right on to the floor in a sitting posture.

‘Why, who the——’ he was beginning; but his eye happening to fall on Ernalie, he ejaculated:

‘Good gracious! How did you come here?’

‘I walked downstairs from my room to bid you good-morning, papa, and you recoiled when I touched you as if I were a snake, instead of your loving daughter. But wouldn’t you like me to help you up? It must be rather uncomfortable sitting there.’

‘Yes, I think it would be as well,’ the King said, after reflecting a moment. ‘I shouldn’t like any one to see me in such a posture—it’s rather undignified for a king.’

So the Princess bent over and began to help him up; but it was a labour of some time, for the King was rather stiff, and just as she had got him half up a page entered and announced the breakfast. It was the same page that had met the Princess on the staircase, and when he saw the Princess assisting the King to rise, he rushed forward, shouting:

‘Help! help! She’s murdering the King.’

And catching the Princess by the arm, he pulled her away so roughly that she had to let go of the King, who recoiled at the shock, and rolled under the table on his back.

Alarmed at the page’s cries for help, a large number of people had rushed in, and he turned to them expecting to be commended for his bravery; but he saw that every one either looked as if he had put his foot in it, or else was trying hard not to laugh. The Princess herself could hardly help laughing at his perplexed face.

‘I think, sir, you were a little too vigorous in your help,’ she said coldly. ‘You may leave us now.’

‘And you can all go,’ said the King from under the table.

The whole lot trooped out, shutting the door, and as soon as they were outside shouts of laughter filled the air for some minutes.

The King meanwhile scrambled out from under the table and got up, this time declining his daughter’s help.

‘It’s always the way,’ he said, as soon as the laughter had died away. ‘Whenever I do anything ridiculous and undignified there’s always a lot of people to see it. Why, only last Thursday—no, last Tuesday, I think—anyhow, it was the day of the last state banquet, my crown tumbled into the soup-tureen, and then I was so nervous that, when I was raising my wine-glass to propose a toast, my hand shook so much that I dropped the wine down the Duchess of Carabas’s neck; and then she fainted, and I helped to carry her out of the room, and as soon as I got outside they all laughed so loud that the chandelier fell into the middle of them. It broke right on a duke’s head, and he never apologised for breaking it. However, I shall get over it now you’ve come back. We really must get into more regular habits. I’ve actually never had more than ten pages to serve my breakfast since you’ve been away, and, by the bye, we’ve not had breakfast; and I’ve forgotten altogether to have the bells rung in your honour. Just knock that gong there on the table—it’s cracked, but I can’t afford a new one, and it’s quite good enough for the guards outside to hear.’

So the Princess knocked the gong, and it certainly was cracked; it sounded a good deal more like knocking an old pot than a respectable royal gong.

At the sound one of the guards outside entered and saluted.

‘Let the breakfast be brought,’ the King said.

The guard withdrew, and presently the door opened, and a page appeared with the royal coffee-pot on a cushion of cloth of gold. Next came another page with the cream-jug on a similar cushion, and then another with the slop-basin, and another with the sugar, and another with the tongs, until the table was completely furnished. Last of all came, with a loud fanfare of trumpets, four men, staggering under the weight of an enormous silver dish with an equally enormous silver cover. When this was placed on the table, amid another flourish of trumpets, the royal butler entered, and said:

‘Breakfast is served, your Majesty,’ although the King could see it very well himself. But that was the custom.

‘You may remove the cover,’ the King said.

And the butler did so, discovering the breakfast. I say discovering, for the breakfast was so small that it seemed almost lost in the centre of the great dish. The twelve pages had ranged themselves in lines of six on each side of the table, and although they were very well bred, on the whole they could not help smiling, whereupon all simultaneously drew out their handkerchiefs and began to cough, and then they looked at the windows, as if to see where the draught came from.

But the King did not take any notice, and as soon as he could make himself heard, he said:

‘Ah! and what is this?’

‘It is the breakfast, your Majesty,’ said the butler.

‘Yes, I can see that,’ said the King. ‘But what is the dish called?’

‘Oh, the dish, your Majesty,’ said the butler apologetically. ‘It’s the ordinary silver dish that your Majesty has with the breakfast. I think it’s the fiddle pattern—no, that’s for spoons; but——’

‘You’re an ass,’ said the King, interrupting him angrily.

‘Thank you, your Majesty. Anything else?’

‘Send for the cook.’

‘Yes, your Majesty. Anything else?’

‘Yes; go away, and don’t come back.’

‘Yes, your Majesty. You’re quite sure there’s nothing——’

‘If you don’t go,’ said the King threateningly. But he had gone.

In a few minutes heavy footsteps were heard outside, and the door burst open violently, and a very fat person entered. She seemed a perfect mass of blacking and dust.

‘Who are you?’ said the King in astonishment.

‘I am the lady that does the cooking for you,’ said the cook solemnly.

‘Oh, you are,’ said the King; ‘and will your ladyship allow me to ask what that is?’ and he pointed to the breakfast.

The cook went forward and, taking a fork from the table, tried to pick the breakfast up, but it slid off the fork; so, without more ado, she took it up in her fingers and examined it carefully, as if to see that it had not changed since she sent it up. When she had done, she looked up and said:

‘Why, it’s as nice an egg as can be bought for money, only it’s a bit addled; and I dropped it in the blacking, but I wiped it on my own apron—look there.’

And she lifted up her apron to look at; and it certainly looked as if a good many eggs had been wiped on it.

However, the King did not notice that.

‘Oh, it’s an egg, is it?’ he said; ‘I didn’t know. I thought it was a piece of coal, and——’

But at this point the cook broke in.

‘Call my eggs a coal! It’s a crying shame! You ought to be ashamed of yourself, an old man like you, too. Here have I been working for three hours this very morning at that egg, and he calls it a coal; and me that plagued too with demons! Why, only this morning one of ’em came and banged at the door so hard that it broke, and then it came in. It was a blue one, with red eyes and a long green tail with a fork at the end; and it stuck the fork in the egg, and then put the egg in the blacking and threw it all over the kitchen; and then it kicked the blacking pot over and flew out at the door before I could say “Gemini”; and I saw it with my own eyes, and it was as ugly a little——’

But this was more than the Princess could stand.

‘Oh, what a—an untruth that is! Look at me. Am I a blue demon with red eyes and a tail?’

But the cook was off again.

‘Oh, it was you, was it? And you ought to be ashamed of yourself, a-frightening a poor lone-lorn woman. Call yourself a Princess? I call you a——’

This was too much for the King.

‘That is enough,’ he said. ‘Take a month’s warning.’

To which the cook replied contemptuously:

‘You give me a month’s warning? Not a bit of it. I give you a minute’s warning! it’s quite enough for the likes of you.’

‘Oh, very well,’ said the King. ‘Of course, if you go off without warning, I don’t pay your month’s wages.’

‘Call yourself a King?’ roared the cook. ‘Why, you’re meaner than——’

‘I don’t know what I call myself,’ said the King mildly, ‘but if you don’t go I’ll call a policeman and have your head cut off instead of your wages.’

But the cook was not to be daunted.

‘That’s what the likes of you does with your old and faithful servants. Here have I been, day in, day out, work, work, work, like a nigger slave-driver, and this is my reward!’

The King did not listen to the rest. He beckoned to one of the pages and said:

‘Just run and bring a sack and throw it over her head. Be quick!’

The page left the room.

‘There you go,’ said the irrepressible cook. ‘That’s it, send for the police, ye oppressors of the poor. Ugh!’

And she began a fresh volley of abuse. She seemed as if she would never lose her breath. But after a few minutes—it seemed ages to the unfortunate King—the page returned; and although he did not enter very quietly, yet the cook was making such a noise that she did not hear him, and the page, who seemed to enter entirely into the spirit of the thing, dropped the sack quietly over her head, and stopped her flow of language.

‘Now, take her outside and put her out at the back door, and mind and shut the door securely after her,’ remarked the King, with a sigh of relief.

Six of the pages immediately caught hold of her and dragged her out, and the other six were about to follow to see the sport when the King stopped them.

‘Can any one of you cook at all?’ he said.

One of the pages stood out and professed to be able to do a little in that way.

‘Well, then,’ said the King decidedly, ‘all six of you go to the kitchen and see what you can find there; and mind you, if I don’t have a breakfast in five minutes, I’ll—well, I’ll see about it.’

When the pages had gone, he turned to the Princess and said:

‘That’s what I always have to put up with. Only the other day the man who cleans the library windows flung his towel in my face and refused to work any more for me, and all because I told him that his coat wasn’t in the fashion.’

‘But wasn’t that rather an unwise proceeding, papa?’ asked Ernalie, dubiously.

‘Do you think so?’ asked the King. ‘If I said that the cut of your dress was rather outlandish—and it is, by the bye—you wouldn’t fling something at me, would you?’

‘No; but then I’m your dutiful daughter, you see.’

‘Well, but he ought to be my dutiful son, for I’m the father of my country.’

‘Well, but then, you see, sons are not always dutiful—daughters always are.’

‘Or they ought to be,’ said his Majesty.

‘It’s the same thing, isn’t it?’

‘Do you think so?’ said the King, in a tone that showed he doubted it.

Just at this moment the pages entered, bringing the breakfast; and they sat down to it.

I needn’t say it was much better than the first one, although I don’t remember exactly what it consisted of; however, they did good justice to it, for Ernalie was rather hungry.

Just as they had finished, the King threw down his knife and fork and looked as if he had just remembered something dreadful.

‘What is the matter, papa?’ asked the Princess in alarm.

And the King burst out:

‘There, now! I knew I’d forgotten something!’ he said. ‘Run out, all six of you,’ he went on, addressing the pages, ‘and set the joy-bells pealing, and send messengers throughout the land. Quick!’

But when they had gone, he calmed down and said:

‘Now, Ernalie, tell me where you’ve been.’

So she began and told it all through, and the King listened quietly till she had finished. Then he said:

‘Ah! You’ve had some wonderful adventures, and you’ve come back safe out of them—only, I should very much like to see this wonderful feather.’

So the Princess showed him the feather in her hat, which she had laid on a chair; the King looked at it very carefully, and then he said:

‘H’m. Looks a very ordinary feather. How does it work? I should like to see.’

‘You won’t see much,’ said the Princess with a smile, as she put it on and vanished.

The King looked astonished.

‘Why, where are you?’ he said.

‘I’m just where I was before, papa,’ answered the Princess.

‘But I don’t believe it,’ the King said, and he looked under the table. ‘You’ve hidden yourself behind something—or some other trick.’

He was rather too startled to think of what his words meant exactly.

‘You are a sceptical old papa for any one to have to do with; but I’ll soon prove it to you.’

And she walked quietly behind his chair, and blew in his ear, which was a rather rude thing to do, on the whole.

‘Perhaps that will blow the disbelief out of your head,’ she said, laughing to see how her unfortunate father shook his head in surprise.

‘Oh yes,’ he replied, ‘I’m quite convinced, and I don’t need any more; and I’d much rather see what you’re up to, so just take the feather off, there’s a good girl.’

And the Princess did as she was told, and the King said:

‘Ah! there you are. Don’t put it on again; I’ve had quite enough of it. Now I can understand how it was that you did it all. But I can’t understand why you didn’t let the young man save himself. You might just as well have lent him the feather, and let him go and get drowned.’

‘But I didn’t want him to get drowned,’ said the Princess.

‘Why not?’ said the King.

‘Because his father and mother took me in, and saved me from Wopole, and it wouldn’t have been a great return for their kindness to let their only son be killed, and besides I——’ But her Royal Highness stopped.

‘You what?’ said her father.

‘I mean he——’ and she stopped again.

‘Oh, it’s him this time, is it? What’s the matter with you?’ he said in astonishment. ‘You don’t mean to say that you’re in love with one another? Now I call that too bad. Here have I promised you to three dukes, and you’ve gone and fallen in love with a Prince. Now I shall have no end of a nuisance with them.’

‘I won’t marry them, at any rate,’ said Ernalie energetically.

‘I don’t want you to marry them—one’s quite enough at a time.’

‘But I won’t marry one of them, and I’m the principal person concerned.

And the Princess began to cry, and that of course softened the heart of her father.

‘There, there,’ he said, as if he were soothing a baby. ‘Don’t cry; you shall marry the Prince, if you can get him—only it’s rather awkward for me. I can’t tell the dukes that you’re engaged to a Prince that can’t be got at. I’m afraid the only thing to do will be to have all their heads cut off. That’ll keep them quiet, at any rate. If I were you I’d send this young man a letter to tell him where you are.’

‘But I’m afraid it wouldn’t reach him,’ said the Princess.

‘Then I don’t see what’s to be done,’ said the King perplexedly. ‘However, I shall give a grand ball to-morrow, and if I were you I should go and have a dress made at once. Send for the Court dressmaker, and tell her that if the dress isn’t ready by then you’ll turn her out of her place; and then when you’ve done that go into the library, and take a book and read. I’ve got a whole lot of work to do this morning; but I shall have finished by one, and then I shall have the day to myself.’

‘But can’t I stay with you while you work? I will be very quiet.’

But the King shook his head.

‘No—there’s a good girl. I’ve got a whole lot of people to give audience to, and they’ll take up such a lot of time congratulating you that I shall not get a stroke of work done.’

So the Princess went and was measured for her ball-dress, and then into the library, and looked about for a book.

Most of them looked very dry and uninteresting, so the Princess took one at a venture.

It was called The Canterbury Tales, by Geoffrey Chaucer.

‘Chaucer,’ said the Princess to herself, ‘I’ve heard of him. I’ll just take it on to the terrace and read it in the arbour. It’s better than sitting in this stuffy old library.’

So she opened one of the windows that led on to the steps of the terrace, and taking the book with her, stepped out of the room.

On the terrace a peacock was airing itself with some pea-hens, and when it saw the Princess it raised its great fan-like tail to display itself to greater advantage, then it quivered all over until the feathers of its tail rattled one against the other, and the hens looked admiringly at him, and then sideways at one another, nodding their heads and clucking, as if to say:

‘Ha! what a fine fellow our master is, and what a splendid tail he’s got. Much better than that poor human being’s yellow stuff, which only moves when the wind blows it.’ And then they looked contemptuously at the Princess’s golden hair, and clucked to each other again, and followed the peacock, which was strutting away to another part of the terrace.

So the Princess went and looked for the swans; but they were busily engaged right over at the other side of the lake, turning bottom upwards in a very undignified manner, and they refused to come for any amount of calling.

As there was nothing else to do, she went and sat down in a shady nook in the white marble wall, and began to look at her book.

‘I shall skip the “Introduction” and the “Prologue”—that’s always dry. Yes, let’s see, this will do—“The Knightes Tale.” It hasn’t got any apostrophe to “Knightes.” That’s bad grammar, I’m sure. However, I’ll go on.’

So she settled herself in a comfortable position with the book on her lap, and began again:

Here she stopped.

‘This man may be a good poet, but he spells awfully badly. Fancy “certain” spelt with an “e-y-n,” and “duke” without an “e.” It sounds like “duck.” And then, what was the “height of Theseus”? I can’t understand it at all.’

However, she read on, skipping pages here and there, for it was almost impossible for her to understand it. Now it happened that as she turned the pages over listlessly—for she was thinking of something else—her eye happened to fall on the name of ‘Dian.’

‘Why, that must be Diana! only they’ve forgotten the “a.” I’ll look a little farther and see what it says about her.’

So she ran her eye down the page, and sure enough she came upon the name.

‘Why, it’s spelt with a “y” now,’ she said. ‘Chaucer evidently doesn’t know his own mind in the matter of spelling. I’ll write to him, and ask him about it. Now, let’s see what it says. Why, it appears to be a prayer, or an invocation, or something.’

So she read:

Just at this point she heard the rattling of chariot wheels, and Diana appeared to her.

‘Well, what do you want now?’ she said.

‘I don’t want anything in particular,’ said Ernalie in astonishment.

‘Then why did you go on praying to me like that?’

‘I wasn’t praying, I was reading.’

‘It doesn’t matter to me. It was a very funny prayer. Whoever was it by? He must have been a stupid man.’

‘He was the father of English poetry,’ the Princess said reproachfully.

‘I should have thought he was a great-great-grandfather when he wrote that.’

‘Why?’ said the Princess in astonishment.

‘It seems uncommonly like the writing of a man in his second childhood. However, that does not matter. About the feather now. What can I do in exchange for it? I will give you anything you want.’

The Princess looked at the Goddess.

‘Why do you want the feather so much?’ she asked. ‘Are you not invisible enough already?’

The Goddess looked at her sneeringly:

‘I am invisible to dull mortals; but we gods can see each other well enough, invisible or not. If I had this feather, though, it would be different, and I should be able to laugh at Venus and that set.’

‘Then I’m sure I won’t give it you, for as Venus is the Goddess of Beauty she might make me ugly, and that would not be nice for me.’

Diana laughed.

‘You evidently don’t consider yourself bad-looking,’ she said; and she was just going on to say something else when an enormous wolf, without a muzzle too, appeared coming round the side of the Palace.

‘There’s Mars,’ said Diana.

‘I don’t see him. I only see a horrible wolf, and——’

But the Goddess interrupted her.

‘Why, you stupid, that’s Mars’s wolf, and where it is Mars is sure to be, or he isn’t far off.’

‘But what does he want here?’ asked Ernalie.

‘He’s going to escort me to Jupiter’s ball, and he’ll be awfully impatient. However, he can wait. Now think, is there nothing?’

The Princess reflected a moment.

‘If I give it to you,’ she said, ‘you must do several things for it, and those quickly.’

The Goddess nodded.

‘First, you must make a road across the mountains into the country beyond.’

‘That is easy enough,’ said the Goddess.

‘Then you must kill the dragon.’

‘He died last week of sheer starvation. So that’s done. Next.’

‘You must bring Treblo here.’

‘Do you mean that he’s to marry you? That’s too bad, considering that you know I detest marriages. However, it can’t be helped. Is that all? Because if there’s much more you had better write it down.’

‘There’s nothing more, except that it must all be done by half-past six to-morrow evening.’

‘Oh! is that all? You shall have it all done before then,’ said the Goddess, very much relieved that the tasks that were to be done had been set.

‘Then, if you’re here to-morrow evening I’ll give it to you.’

Just then Mars appeared round the corner, looking very bad-tempered.

‘If you are coming at all, you’d better come at once.’

So Diana said:

‘Very well, to-morrow evening I shall be here.’

And she drove her chariot towards the God of War, and when he had got in they turned the corner of the house and disappeared.

Just then the King came into the garden from the library window.

‘What have you been doing?’ he asked her. ‘I’ve been watching you for some minutes from the window, and you’ve been going on in the most extraordinary manner, talking and laughing, just as if you had been speaking to some one.’

The Princess brushed back her hair from her face.

‘Oh! I didn’t know you could see me,’ she said. ‘It’s nothing—only a little surprise I’ve been preparing for you.’

‘Indeed, you surprise me,’ the King said.

‘Ah, well! if I do that so easily perhaps I shall do it often,’ she said.

‘What have you been doing all the morning?’ the King asked.

‘All the morning?’ said the Princess in astonishment. ‘It’s not late, is it?’

The King pulled out his watch and looked at it.

‘It’s half-past five by my watch; but I don’t think that’s quite right—in fact it stopped three days ago. Ah! I thought so—there’s the dinner-gong. You needn’t wash your hands, or you’ll be late.’

So they went in together, and the rest of the day passed off quietly, except that every now and then one of the enthusiastic nobles insisted on coming in and welcoming the Princess, although the King had given strict orders that no one should be admitted, as he wanted to be alone for the day. In spite of this, every now and then an elderly duchess would rush into the royal presence, and offer her congratulations.

At last, just as they hoped that the last of them had come and gone, the door opened, and an elderly man—he would have been offended at being called old—rushed in and clasped the Princess in his arms.

‘My adored Duchess——’ he was just beginning.

But the Princess boxed his ears suddenly, and he let go.

‘What on earth does this mean?’ she said, turning to the King. ‘First I am inundated with duchesses until I’m quite tired of the name, and then this old fright rushes in and calls me his duchess, when I’m not a duchess at all. What does he mean, papa?’

The King looked rather embarrassed.

‘It’s one of them,’ he said meaningly.

‘Oh! it’s one of them, is it?’ she said. ‘Well, sir’—turning to the Duke—‘what do you mean by forcing your way here against the royal orders?’

‘I thought,’ said the Duke, looking rather foolish, ‘that as you are going to——’

‘But I’m not,’ said Ernalie suddenly, ‘after such rudeness. You may go, and don’t come back again.’

And the Duke went.

‘That’s got rid of one of them, at any rate,’ the King said, with a sigh of relief.

‘I’ll do my best to get rid of them all,’ said the Princess.

‘How?’ the King began. Then he stopped. ‘Wait a moment. I have an idea,’ he went on.

‘Indeed, you surprise me,’ said the Princess.

But the King did not notice her impertinent remark. He went to a drawer, and took out a large piece of paper, and wrote on it as large as he could:

‘NOTICE.

‘During the next twenty-four hours, any one found kissing, embracing, congratulating, or suing for the hand of the Princess—or King—will be submerged three times in the Palace draw-well.

‘(Signed) Caret, etc. etc.’

‘That ought to do it,’ said the King, surveying his handiwork approvingly.

Just then the door opened, and two more old gentlemen—each wearing a ducal coronet—tottered in as fast as they could.

‘My dear Princess,’ ‘My darling wife,’ they duetted in feeble tones, showing as much joy as their faces were capable of, which made them look about as pleasant as a pair of Japanese masks.

‘Allow me to congratulate you,’ ‘Allow me to offer my congratulations,’ they went on.

‘Now you’ve done it,’ said the King. ‘Look here!’ And he showed them the notice.

The two Dukes turned each a different shade of yellow.

‘But, your Majesty,’ one of them began.

‘But, your Majesty,’ said the other suddenly; ‘as I’m——’

‘As I’m——’ the other put in.

Each of them stopped and looked angrily at the other.

‘As the son-in-law elect of the King,’ the first one began.

‘As the affianced husband of the Princess,’ said the other.

‘I think I have the right to speak first,’ they both said angrily.

But the King said, coolly:

‘My lords, the case is very clear. You have each of you offended against the law by congratulating the Princess, and as one of you, if not both, intends to marry my daughter and become King, it is as well to teach you from the beginning that the law must be abided by. Therefore, you will be ducked—“submerged,” the notice says—until one of you expires; the other will then marry Ernalie, and in course of time—if he does not die of the effects in the meantime—he will ascend the throne, having learnt a useful lesson.’

As the Dukes got greener and greener at this, the King went on:

‘The sentence had better be executed at once, so come along to the courtyard.’

‘But, your Majesty,’ said one of them, ‘I am subject to rheumatism, and I should not be fit to reign if this immersion in cold water should make it so bad that I was unable to move.’

‘That’s just the case with me,’ said the other.

‘Ah, well, if that is so,’ said the King, ‘perhaps you would like to give up your pretensions to my daughter’s hand. In that case, I should let you off, because there would be no need to give you such a practical exemplification of the majesty of the law.’

The Dukes looked perplexedly at one another.

‘I think,’ said one of them, ‘that, under the circumstances, I will give up my pretensions to the Princess’s hand.’

Here he looked regretfully at her right hand.

‘And I too,’ said the other sadly, looking at her left hand.

‘How very gallant of you,’ the Princess said ironically. ‘And now, as you’ve got rid of me so easily, perhaps you will be so kind as to leave us for a time. Good-day.’

‘Good-day,’ duetted the Dukes.

And they huddled out as well as they could, each trying to get behind the other.

‘I think that’s got rid of all the suitors for to-day,’ the King said when the door closed behind them. ‘I’ll just go and have the notice hung on the door, and I’ll be back in a minute.’

And he went, too.

Now really, he thought he had let the Dukes off too easily, and he intended to catch them up and fine them, but they had made off so uncommonly fast that they had disappeared before he got to the street door.

Meanwhile the Princess waited quietly for him; but hearing a noise of wheels outside the window, she went to see what was the cause of it.

‘Why, it’s him!’ she said delightedly, and with utter disregard of English grammar.

Opening the window she called out, ‘Treblo! Treblo!’ and, running down the steps towards him, threw herself into his arms.

For a moment she was too much out of breath to say anything at all, and Treblo too surprised to do anything but just hold her in his arms; and the King, who had just returned from the search after the Dukes, was far too taken aback to do anything but stand with his mouth and eyes wide open.

‘I call this too bad,’ he said in a low voice; and then raising it, he called out:

‘Young man, I say, have you seen the notice?’

Treblo looked annoyed.

‘What is the notice to me, you old fool?’ he said.

The King looked more and more astonished.

‘This is too much,’ he said. ‘Ernalie, when you’ve done kissing that young man perhaps you’ll tell me who he is. You see, it’s no use my putting up notices about other people embracing you if you go and perform on some one immediately afterwards. Now just tell me who it is.’

‘Why, it’s him, papa,’ said Ernalie, who had by this time disengaged herself.

‘Oh, it’s a him, is it?’ the King said. ‘That’s what the three others said they were, but they wouldn’t suit you.’

‘But they were so very old; besides, this is the him, papa.’

‘Ah, I see,’ said the papa, laughing. ‘It’s a case of “Ancient and Modern Hymns,” and you prefer the modern. But what about the notice?’

‘What is the notice?’ asked Treblo, rather puzzled; ‘and what has it got to do with me?’

‘More than you think,’ said the King. ‘It’s worth reading, I can tell you, especially during the next twenty-four hours. I should advise you to learn it by heart—that is, if you intend. However, I’ll go and fetch it, and you will be able to see for yourself.’

And the King went off to look for his notice.

When he had gone, the Princess said:

‘But how did you get here? I thought the mountains could not be crossed.’

‘I don’t know anything about the mountains, or how I came here either, for that matter. All I know is that I was suddenly caught up in a thick mist which hid me from every one, and every one from me too, and before I knew anything I was whirled off here in about a minute and a half, and then you came running down the steps—and that’s all I know. Now perhaps you’ll tell me where I am, for I haven’t the faintest idea?’

‘Why, you’re in the middle of the kingdom of Aoland, and that was my father, and this is my home—and it’s all right.’

‘Yes, it’s all right now, but you wouldn’t have said it was all right if you had been carried like me.’

‘But you should feel yourself highly honoured and not injured. Why, you stupid fellow, it was a goddess who was carrying you like the heroes of Homer.’

‘A goddess!’ said the Prince, laughing. ‘Why, you must have been the goddess, Ernalie, and you’re quite——’

But the Princess stopped him.

‘What’s the use of saying that if you won’t believe me? It really was a goddess; and if you would like to know her name, it was Diana.’

‘Diana!’ said the Prince. ‘Why did she carry me off like this?’

‘Because I told her to, of course.’

The Prince shook his head.

‘Come, I say, Ernalie,’ he said, ‘this is too much, you know. I suppose you want me to believe that?’

‘Of course I do. Why should I have told you if I hadn’t wanted you to?’

‘Yes, that’s all very well,’ said the unbelieving Prince; ‘but how do you do it?’

‘I just make myself invisible, and then I make people do everything I like; they have to do it, or else I tease them till they do. But let’s come into the house and I’ll tell you all about it. But why are you holding me so tightly?’

‘I am afraid that you will suddenly vanish as you did once before, and I don’t want that—you’ve been away from me long enough.’

‘Oh, but I won’t leave you again, Treblo,’ she said, ‘I promise that—that is, if you don’t want me to.’

‘Then you won’t leave me, dear?’ he said; ‘for I shall never want to lose sight of you again.’

So they went in, and the Princess told him what you know already—if you haven’t skipped it. But all the same he did not leave go of her, and I don’t think it was from mistrust.

Ernalie finished relating her story, and the Prince was beginning:

‘My dearest Ernalie, how can I——’ when the door opened, and the King came in.

‘I’ve had such a job,’ he said, wiping his forehead. ‘There were about three thousand people assembled reading the notice, and they jeered and hooted so much that I had to make them a speech before they’d go away. However, here’s the notice.’

The Prince read it through carefully, and when he had finished he looked at the King and said:

‘Well?’

‘That’s just it,’ said the King; ‘the Palace draw-well.’

‘But as I’m the affianced bride of—I mean, as Ernalie’s my future husband——’

‘That’s just what the other two said—at least they said, and more correctly, that they were my sons-in-law elect; only that didn’t help them.’

By this time the Prince was looking more puzzled than ever.

‘Who are these other two?’ he said, turning to the Princess.

(‘Beware of the green-eyed monster,’ the King said parenthetically.)

‘Oh, they’re only three dukes that papa had promised my hand to—only I wouldn’t have them.’

‘You mean they wouldn’t have you,’ said the King, correcting her.

‘I don’t mean anything of the sort,’ said the Princess.

‘Oh, very well, my dear,’ said the King. ‘Of course, if you say so, it’s all right. But how about the notice?’

‘I think we’ll tear that up,’ said Ernalie. ‘It’s done its duty, and it will be rather in the way now.’

‘Indeed, you surprise me,’ remarked the King.

‘Ernalie is quite right,’ said the Prince.

‘Oh! is she?’ said the King. ‘Then I suppose I’d better tear it up.’ And he did.

When he had finished, and had thrown the fragments into the waste-paper basket, he said:

‘Now I suppose you want me to consent to your marrying each other, and I suppose I’d better, or else I shall have Ernalie pitching into me like anything—only, I really don’t know who you are, young man, except that Ernalie says you are “him” (she ought to say he), and so I suppose you are Treblo, the Prince of the neighbouring kingdom?’

‘I am,’ said the Prince. ‘And I suppose you are the King of this country?’

The King was just about to say ‘I am,’ when another voice sounded through the room so clear and commanding that each of them looked towards the window from which it came; but nothing was to be seen there.

‘The road is made,’ it said, ‘and now perhaps you’ll give me the feather.’

‘Certainly,’ said the Princess. ‘Here it is,’ and she held it out in the direction of the Goddess. ‘Only, you might let us see you before you go for ever.’

‘Oh, certainly,’ said the Goddess, for, to tell the truth, Diana—like others besides goddesses—was very fond of being admired; and immediately she appeared in the middle of the room with her silver bow and quiver slung over her back, and the star that she always wore shining on her forehead.

She took the feather and, smiling, put it to her hair, and on the moment passed away; so that, where she had seemed to be, they saw the thin circlet of the moon hanging silvery and pale over the flush of the sun’s departure.

‘It really was Diana,’ Treblo said.

‘Yes, of course it was, you sceptical boy,’ Ernalie answered; and then, with a little sigh, ‘I wish I had the feather still, it makes me feel just like any other girl being without it.’

‘But you’re not—not a bit—there’s no one like you in the world!’ Treblo said hotly.

‘Why, I believe you’re right—upon my word I do,’ the King said suddenly, looking up from a book in which he had seemed immersed, ‘I never knew any one like her—for obstinacy.’

‘Let’s go into the garden, Treblo,’ the Princess said.

‘You’ll catch your deaths of cold,’ the King remarked.

But somehow, although they quietly ignored his prudent observation, which was really wrong of them, they never caught cold. And that is all the stranger, because the evening was falling very rapidly, with a feeling of cool dew after the heat of the day, with a faint scent of roses and honeysuckle, and no sound on the air but the splash of a fish as it jumped for a moment out of the smooth river, or the short, shrill shriek of a bat that was circling in the air above them. They sat in a marble niche in the wall that had roses running up it and hanging down like a net in front of them—sat and talked till it grew so dark that he could no longer see the golden threads in her brown hair; until he could no longer see that her eyes were hazel-gray and long-lashed, or even that her face was a long, sweet, serious oval. So, you see, it must have been quite a long time that they sat and talked thus.