Chapter Thirty Four.

Chapter Thirty Four.Bladud’s Return and Trials.We need scarcely say that there was joy at the court of King Hudibras when Bladud returned home, cured of his terrible disease.The first person whom the prince hurried off to visit, after seeing his father, and embracing his mother and sister, was the northern chief Gadarn. That jovial character was enjoying a siesta after the mid-day meal at the time, but willingly arose on the prince being announced.“Glad to see you, Gadarn,” said Bladud, entering the room that had been apportioned to the chief, and sitting down on a bench for visitors, which, according to custom, stood against the inner wall of the apartment. “I hope your head is clear and your arm strong.”“Both are as they should be,” answered Gadarn, returning the salutation.“I thank you,” replied the prince, “my arm is indeed strong, but my head is not quite as clear as it might be.”“Love got anything to do with it?” asked Gadarn, with a knowing look.“Not the love of woman, if that is what you mean.”“Truly that is what I do mean—though, of course, I admit that one’s horses and dogs have also a claim on our affections. What is it that troubles you, my son?”The affectionate conclusion of this reply, and the chief’s manner, drew the prince towards him, so that he became confidential.“The truth is, Gadarn, that I am very anxious to know what news you have of Cormac—for the fate of that poor boy hangs heavy on my mind. Indeed, I should have refused to quit the Swamp, in spite of the king’s commands and my mother’s entreaties, if you had not sent that message by the Hebrew.”“Ah, Bladud, my young friend, that is an undutiful speech for a son to make about his parents,” said the chief, holding up a remonstrative forefinger. “If that is the way you treat your natural parents, how can I expect that—that—I mean—”Here the chief was seized with a fit of sneezing, so violent, that it made the prince quite concerned about the safety of his nose.“Ha!” exclaimed Gadarn, as a final wind up to the last sneeze, “the air of that Swamp seems to have been too strong for me. I’m growing old, you see. Well—what was I saying?—never mind. You were referring to that poor lad Cormac. Yes, I have news of him.”“Good news, I hope?” said the prince, anxiously. “O yes—very good—excellent! That is to say—rather—somewhat indefinite news, for—for the person who saw him told me—in fact, it is difficult to explain, because people are often untrustworthy, and exaggerate reports, so that it is not easy to make out what is true and what is false, or whether both accounts may be true, or the whole thing false altogether. You see, Bladud, our poor brains,” continued the chief, in an argumentative tone, “are so—so—queerly mixed up that one cannot tell—tell—why, there was once a fellow in my army, whose manner of reporting any event, no matter how simple, was so incomprehensible that it was impossible to—to—but let me tell you an anecdote about him. His name was—”“Forgive my interrupting you, chief, but I am so anxious to hear something about my lost friend that—”“Ha! Bladud, I fear that you are a selfish man, for you have not yet asked about my lost daughter.”“Indeed I am not by any means indifferent about her; but—but, you know, I have never seen her, and, to tell the plain truth, my anxiety about the boy drove her out of my mind for the moment. Have you found her?”“Ay, that I have; as well and hearty as ever she was, though somewhat more beautiful and a trifle more mischievous. But I will introduce her to you to-morrow. There is to be a grand feast, is there not, at the palace?”“Yes; something of the sort, I believe, in honour of my return,” answered the prince, a good deal annoyed by the turn the conversation had taken.“Well, then, you shall see her then; for she has only just arrived, and is too tired to see any one,” continued Gadarn, with a suppressed yawn; “and you’ll be sure to fall in love with her; but you had better not, for her affections are already engaged. I give you fair warning, so be on your guard.”The prince laughed, and assured his friend that there was no fear, as he had seen thousands of fair girls both in East and West, but his heart had never yet been touched by one of them.At this the chief laughed loudly, and assured Bladud that his case had now reached a critical stage: for when young men made statements of that kind, they were always on the point of being conquered.“But leave me now, Bladud,” he continued, with a yawn so vast that the regions around the uvula were clearly visible; “I’m frightfully sleepy, and you know you have shortened my nap this afternoon.”The prince rose at once.“At all events,” he said, “I am to understand, before I go, that Cormachasbeen seen?”“O yes! Certainly; no doubt about that!”“And is well?”“Quite well.”Fain to be content with this in the meantime, Bladud hurried to the apartment of his sister.“Hafrydda!” he exclaimed, “has Gadarn gone out of his mind?”“I believe not,” she replied, sitting down beside her brother and taking his hand. “Why do you ask?”“Because he talks—I say it with all respect—like an idiot.”Hafrydda laughed; and her brother thereupon gave her a full account of the recent interview.“Now, my sister, you were always straightforward and wise. Give me a clear answer. Has Cormac been found?”“No, he has not been found; but—”“Then,” interrupted Bladud, in a savage tone that was very foreign to his nature, “Gadarn is a liar!”“Oh, brother! say not so.”“How can I help it? He gave me to understand that Cormachasbeen found—at least, well, no, not exactly found, butseenand heard of. I’m no better than the rest of you,” continued Bladud, with a sarcastic laugh. “It seems as if there were something in the air just now which prevents us all from expressing ourselves plainly.”“Well, then, brother,” said Hafrydda, with a smile, “if he told you that Cormac has been seen and heard of, and is well, surely that may relieve your mind till to-morrow, when I know that some one who knows all about the boy is to be at our festival. We begin it with games, as usual. Shall you be there?”“I’d rather not,” replied the prince almost testily; “but, of course, it would be ungracious not to appear. This, however, I do know, that I shall take no part in the sports.”“As you please, brother. We are only too glad to have you home again, to care much about that. But, now, I have something of importance to tell you about myself.”Bladud was interested immediately; and for the moment forgot his own troubles as he gazed inquiringly into the fair countenance of the princess.“I am going to wed, brother.”“Indeed! You do not surprise me, though you alarm me—I know not why. Who is the man?—not Gunrig, I hope.”“Alas! no. Poor Gunrig is dead.”“Dead! Ah, poor man! I am glad we met at the Swamp.”Bladud looked sad for a moment, but did not seem unduly oppressed by the news.“The man who has asked me to wed is your friend Dromas.”“What!” exclaimed the prince, in blazing surprise, not unmingled with delight. “The man has been here only a few hours! He must have been very prompt!”“It does not take many hours to ask a girl to wed; and I like a prompt man,” returned the princess, looking pensively at the floor.“But tell me, how came it all about? How did he manage it in so short a time?”“Well, brother dear—but you’ll never tell any one, will you?”“Never—never!”“Well, you must know, when we first met, we—we—”“Fell in love. Poor helpless things!”“Just so, brother; we fell, somehow in—whatever it was; and he told me with his eyes—and—and—I told him with mine. Then he went off to find you; and came back, having found you—for which I was very grateful. Then he went to father and asked leave to speak to me. Then he went to mother. What they said I do not know; but he came straight to me, took my hand, fixed his piercing black eyes on me, and said, ‘Hafrydda, I love you.’”“Was thatall?” asked Bladud.“Yes; that was all hesaid; but—but that was not the end of the interview! It would probably have lasted till now, if you had not interrupted us.”“I’m so very sorry, sister, but of course I did not know that—”They were interrupted at that moment by the servitor, to whom the reader has already been introduced. He entered with a brightly intelligent grin on his expressive face, but, on beholding Bladud, suddenly elongated his countenance into blank stupidity.“The old woman waits outside, princess.”“Oh, send her here at once.” (Then, when the servitor had left.) “This is the person I mentioned who knows about Cormac.”Another moment and the little old woman in the grey shawl was ushered in. She started visibly on beholding Bladud.“Come in, granny. I did not expect you till to-morrow.”“I thought I was to see you alone,” said the old woman, testily, in her hard, metallic voice.“That is true, granny, but I thought you might like to see my brother Bladud, who has just returned home safe and well.”“No, Idon’twant to see your brother. What do I care for people’s brothers? I want to see yourself, alone.”“Let me congratulate you, at all events,” interposed the prince, kindly, “on your having recovered your hearing, grannie. This is not the first time we have met, Hafrydda, but I grieve to see that my old friend’s nerves are not so strong as they used to be. You tremble a good deal.”“Yes, I tremble more than I like,” returned the old woman peevishly, “and, perhaps, when you come to my age, young man, and have got the palsy, you’ll tremble more than I do.”“Nay, be not angry with me. I meant not to hurt your feelings; and since you wish to be alone with my sister, I will leave you.”When he was gone Branwen threw back the grey shawl and stood up with flashing, tearful eyes.“Was it kind—was it wise, Hafrydda, to cause me to run so great a risk of being discovered?”“Forgive me, dear Branwen, I did not mean to do it, but you arrived unexpectedly, and I let you come in without thinking. Besides, I knew you could easily deceive him. Nobody could guess it was you—not even your own mother.”“There must be some truth in that,” returned the maiden, quickly changing her mood, and laughing, “for I deceived my own father yesterday. At the Swamp he found me out at once as Cormac, for I had to speak in my natural voice, and my full face was exposed; but the grey shawl and the metallic voice were too much for him. Dear, good, patient, old man, you have no notion what a fearful amount of abuse he took from me, without losing temper—and I gave him some awful home-thrusts too! I felt almost tempted to kiss him and beg his pardon. But now, Hafrydda, I am beginning to be afraid of what all this deceiving and playing the double-face will come to. And I’m ashamed of it too—I really am. What will Bladud think of me when he finds out? Won’t he despise and hate me?”“Indeed he will not. I know his nature well,” returned the princess, kissing, and trying to reassure her friend, whose timid look and tearful eyes seemed to indicate that all her self-confidence and courage were vanishing. “He loves you already, and love is a preventive of hate as well as a sovereign remedy for it.”“Ay, he is fond of Cormac, I know, but that is a very different thing from loving Branwen! However, to-morrow will tell. If he cares only for the boy and does not love the girl, I shall return with my father to the far north, and you will never see Branwen more.”

We need scarcely say that there was joy at the court of King Hudibras when Bladud returned home, cured of his terrible disease.

The first person whom the prince hurried off to visit, after seeing his father, and embracing his mother and sister, was the northern chief Gadarn. That jovial character was enjoying a siesta after the mid-day meal at the time, but willingly arose on the prince being announced.

“Glad to see you, Gadarn,” said Bladud, entering the room that had been apportioned to the chief, and sitting down on a bench for visitors, which, according to custom, stood against the inner wall of the apartment. “I hope your head is clear and your arm strong.”

“Both are as they should be,” answered Gadarn, returning the salutation.

“I thank you,” replied the prince, “my arm is indeed strong, but my head is not quite as clear as it might be.”

“Love got anything to do with it?” asked Gadarn, with a knowing look.

“Not the love of woman, if that is what you mean.”

“Truly that is what I do mean—though, of course, I admit that one’s horses and dogs have also a claim on our affections. What is it that troubles you, my son?”

The affectionate conclusion of this reply, and the chief’s manner, drew the prince towards him, so that he became confidential.

“The truth is, Gadarn, that I am very anxious to know what news you have of Cormac—for the fate of that poor boy hangs heavy on my mind. Indeed, I should have refused to quit the Swamp, in spite of the king’s commands and my mother’s entreaties, if you had not sent that message by the Hebrew.”

“Ah, Bladud, my young friend, that is an undutiful speech for a son to make about his parents,” said the chief, holding up a remonstrative forefinger. “If that is the way you treat your natural parents, how can I expect that—that—I mean—”

Here the chief was seized with a fit of sneezing, so violent, that it made the prince quite concerned about the safety of his nose.

“Ha!” exclaimed Gadarn, as a final wind up to the last sneeze, “the air of that Swamp seems to have been too strong for me. I’m growing old, you see. Well—what was I saying?—never mind. You were referring to that poor lad Cormac. Yes, I have news of him.”

“Good news, I hope?” said the prince, anxiously. “O yes—very good—excellent! That is to say—rather—somewhat indefinite news, for—for the person who saw him told me—in fact, it is difficult to explain, because people are often untrustworthy, and exaggerate reports, so that it is not easy to make out what is true and what is false, or whether both accounts may be true, or the whole thing false altogether. You see, Bladud, our poor brains,” continued the chief, in an argumentative tone, “are so—so—queerly mixed up that one cannot tell—tell—why, there was once a fellow in my army, whose manner of reporting any event, no matter how simple, was so incomprehensible that it was impossible to—to—but let me tell you an anecdote about him. His name was—”

“Forgive my interrupting you, chief, but I am so anxious to hear something about my lost friend that—”

“Ha! Bladud, I fear that you are a selfish man, for you have not yet asked about my lost daughter.”

“Indeed I am not by any means indifferent about her; but—but, you know, I have never seen her, and, to tell the plain truth, my anxiety about the boy drove her out of my mind for the moment. Have you found her?”

“Ay, that I have; as well and hearty as ever she was, though somewhat more beautiful and a trifle more mischievous. But I will introduce her to you to-morrow. There is to be a grand feast, is there not, at the palace?”

“Yes; something of the sort, I believe, in honour of my return,” answered the prince, a good deal annoyed by the turn the conversation had taken.

“Well, then, you shall see her then; for she has only just arrived, and is too tired to see any one,” continued Gadarn, with a suppressed yawn; “and you’ll be sure to fall in love with her; but you had better not, for her affections are already engaged. I give you fair warning, so be on your guard.”

The prince laughed, and assured his friend that there was no fear, as he had seen thousands of fair girls both in East and West, but his heart had never yet been touched by one of them.

At this the chief laughed loudly, and assured Bladud that his case had now reached a critical stage: for when young men made statements of that kind, they were always on the point of being conquered.

“But leave me now, Bladud,” he continued, with a yawn so vast that the regions around the uvula were clearly visible; “I’m frightfully sleepy, and you know you have shortened my nap this afternoon.”

The prince rose at once.

“At all events,” he said, “I am to understand, before I go, that Cormachasbeen seen?”

“O yes! Certainly; no doubt about that!”

“And is well?”

“Quite well.”

Fain to be content with this in the meantime, Bladud hurried to the apartment of his sister.

“Hafrydda!” he exclaimed, “has Gadarn gone out of his mind?”

“I believe not,” she replied, sitting down beside her brother and taking his hand. “Why do you ask?”

“Because he talks—I say it with all respect—like an idiot.”

Hafrydda laughed; and her brother thereupon gave her a full account of the recent interview.

“Now, my sister, you were always straightforward and wise. Give me a clear answer. Has Cormac been found?”

“No, he has not been found; but—”

“Then,” interrupted Bladud, in a savage tone that was very foreign to his nature, “Gadarn is a liar!”

“Oh, brother! say not so.”

“How can I help it? He gave me to understand that Cormachasbeen found—at least, well, no, not exactly found, butseenand heard of. I’m no better than the rest of you,” continued Bladud, with a sarcastic laugh. “It seems as if there were something in the air just now which prevents us all from expressing ourselves plainly.”

“Well, then, brother,” said Hafrydda, with a smile, “if he told you that Cormac has been seen and heard of, and is well, surely that may relieve your mind till to-morrow, when I know that some one who knows all about the boy is to be at our festival. We begin it with games, as usual. Shall you be there?”

“I’d rather not,” replied the prince almost testily; “but, of course, it would be ungracious not to appear. This, however, I do know, that I shall take no part in the sports.”

“As you please, brother. We are only too glad to have you home again, to care much about that. But, now, I have something of importance to tell you about myself.”

Bladud was interested immediately; and for the moment forgot his own troubles as he gazed inquiringly into the fair countenance of the princess.

“I am going to wed, brother.”

“Indeed! You do not surprise me, though you alarm me—I know not why. Who is the man?—not Gunrig, I hope.”

“Alas! no. Poor Gunrig is dead.”

“Dead! Ah, poor man! I am glad we met at the Swamp.”

Bladud looked sad for a moment, but did not seem unduly oppressed by the news.

“The man who has asked me to wed is your friend Dromas.”

“What!” exclaimed the prince, in blazing surprise, not unmingled with delight. “The man has been here only a few hours! He must have been very prompt!”

“It does not take many hours to ask a girl to wed; and I like a prompt man,” returned the princess, looking pensively at the floor.

“But tell me, how came it all about? How did he manage it in so short a time?”

“Well, brother dear—but you’ll never tell any one, will you?”

“Never—never!”

“Well, you must know, when we first met, we—we—”

“Fell in love. Poor helpless things!”

“Just so, brother; we fell, somehow in—whatever it was; and he told me with his eyes—and—and—I told him with mine. Then he went off to find you; and came back, having found you—for which I was very grateful. Then he went to father and asked leave to speak to me. Then he went to mother. What they said I do not know; but he came straight to me, took my hand, fixed his piercing black eyes on me, and said, ‘Hafrydda, I love you.’”

“Was thatall?” asked Bladud.

“Yes; that was all hesaid; but—but that was not the end of the interview! It would probably have lasted till now, if you had not interrupted us.”

“I’m so very sorry, sister, but of course I did not know that—”

They were interrupted at that moment by the servitor, to whom the reader has already been introduced. He entered with a brightly intelligent grin on his expressive face, but, on beholding Bladud, suddenly elongated his countenance into blank stupidity.

“The old woman waits outside, princess.”

“Oh, send her here at once.” (Then, when the servitor had left.) “This is the person I mentioned who knows about Cormac.”

Another moment and the little old woman in the grey shawl was ushered in. She started visibly on beholding Bladud.

“Come in, granny. I did not expect you till to-morrow.”

“I thought I was to see you alone,” said the old woman, testily, in her hard, metallic voice.

“That is true, granny, but I thought you might like to see my brother Bladud, who has just returned home safe and well.”

“No, Idon’twant to see your brother. What do I care for people’s brothers? I want to see yourself, alone.”

“Let me congratulate you, at all events,” interposed the prince, kindly, “on your having recovered your hearing, grannie. This is not the first time we have met, Hafrydda, but I grieve to see that my old friend’s nerves are not so strong as they used to be. You tremble a good deal.”

“Yes, I tremble more than I like,” returned the old woman peevishly, “and, perhaps, when you come to my age, young man, and have got the palsy, you’ll tremble more than I do.”

“Nay, be not angry with me. I meant not to hurt your feelings; and since you wish to be alone with my sister, I will leave you.”

When he was gone Branwen threw back the grey shawl and stood up with flashing, tearful eyes.

“Was it kind—was it wise, Hafrydda, to cause me to run so great a risk of being discovered?”

“Forgive me, dear Branwen, I did not mean to do it, but you arrived unexpectedly, and I let you come in without thinking. Besides, I knew you could easily deceive him. Nobody could guess it was you—not even your own mother.”

“There must be some truth in that,” returned the maiden, quickly changing her mood, and laughing, “for I deceived my own father yesterday. At the Swamp he found me out at once as Cormac, for I had to speak in my natural voice, and my full face was exposed; but the grey shawl and the metallic voice were too much for him. Dear, good, patient, old man, you have no notion what a fearful amount of abuse he took from me, without losing temper—and I gave him some awful home-thrusts too! I felt almost tempted to kiss him and beg his pardon. But now, Hafrydda, I am beginning to be afraid of what all this deceiving and playing the double-face will come to. And I’m ashamed of it too—I really am. What will Bladud think of me when he finds out? Won’t he despise and hate me?”

“Indeed he will not. I know his nature well,” returned the princess, kissing, and trying to reassure her friend, whose timid look and tearful eyes seemed to indicate that all her self-confidence and courage were vanishing. “He loves you already, and love is a preventive of hate as well as a sovereign remedy for it.”

“Ay, he is fond of Cormac, I know, but that is a very different thing from loving Branwen! However, to-morrow will tell. If he cares only for the boy and does not love the girl, I shall return with my father to the far north, and you will never see Branwen more.”

Chapter Thirty Five.The Plot Thickens.During the residence of Gadarn at the court of King Hudibras, that wily northern chief had led the king to understand that one of his lieutenants had at last discovered his daughter Branwen in the hands of a band of robbers, from whom he had rescued her, and that he expected her arrival daily.“But what made the poor child run away?” asked the king at one of his interviews with his friend. “We were all very fond of her, and she of us, I have good reason to believe.”“I have been told,” replied the chief, “that it was the fear of Gunrig.”“Gunrig! Why, the man was to wed my daughter. She had no need to fear him.”“That may be so, but I know—though it is not easy to remember how I came to know it—that Gunrig had been insolent enough to make up to her, after he was defeated by Bladud, and she was so afraid of him that she ran away, and thus fell into the hands of robbers.”While the chief was speaking, Hudibras clenched his hands and glared fiercely.“Dared he to think of another girl when he was engaged to my daughter!” he said between his teeth. “It is well that Gunrig is dead, for assuredly I would have killed him.”“It is well indeed,” returned Gadarn, “for if your killing had not been sufficient, I would have made it more effectual. But he is out of the way now, so we may dismiss him.”“True—and when may we expect Branwen back again, poor child?” asked the king.“In a day or two at latest. From what was told me by the runner who was sent on in advance, it is possible that she may be here to-morrow, in time for the sports.”The wily chief had settled it in his own mind that Branwen should arrive exactly at the time when there was to be a presentation of chiefs; which ceremony was to take place just before the commencement of the sports. This arrangement he had come to in concert with a little old woman in a grey shawl, who paid him a private visit daily.“Do you know, Gadarn, who this youth Cormac is, whom Bladud raves so much about?”The northern chief was seized at that moment with one of those violent fits of sneezing to which of late he had become unpleasantly subject.“Oh! ye—ye—y–ha! yes;—excuse me, king, but since I went to that Hot Swamp, something seems to have gone wrong wi’—wi’—ha! my nose.”“Something will go worse wrong with it, chief, if you go on like that. I thought the last one must have split it. Well, what know you about Cormac?”“That he appears to be a very good fellow. I can say nothing more about him than that, except that your son seems to think he owes his life to his good nursing at a critical point in his illness.”“I know that well enough,” returned the king, “for Bladud has impressed it on me at least a dozen times. He seems to be very grateful. Indeed so am I, and it would please me much if I had an opportunity of showing my gratitude to the lad. Think you that there is any chance of finding out where he has disappeared to?”“Not the least chance in the world.”“Indeed!” exclaimed the king in surprise. “That is strange, for Bladud, who has just left me, says that he has the best of reasons for believing that we shall have certain news of him tomorrow. But go, Gadarn, and consult my doctor about this complaint of yours, which interrupts conversation so awkwardly. We can resume our talk at some other time.”Gadarn obediently went, holding his sides as if in agony, and sneezing in a manner that caused the roof-tree of the palace to vibrate.Returning to his own room he found the little old woman in grey awaiting him.“You’ve been laughing again, father,” she said. “I see by the purpleness of your face. You’ll burst yourself at last if you go on so.”“Oh! you little old hag—oh! Cormac—oh! Branwen, I hope you won’t be the death of me,” cried the chief, flinging his huge limbs on a couch and giving way to unrestrained laughter, till the tears ran down his cheeks. “If they did not all look so grave when speaking about you, it wouldn’t be so hard to bear. It’s the gravity that kills me. But come, Branwen,” he added, as he suddenly checked himself and took her hand, “what makes you look so anxious, my child?”“Because I feel frightened, and ashamed, and miserable,” she answered, with no symptom of her sire’s hilarity. “I doubt if I should have followed Bladud—but if I had not he would have died—and I don’t like to think of all the deceptions I have been practising—though I couldn’t very well help it—could I? Then I fear that Bladud will forget Cormac when he learns to despise Branwen—”“Despise Branwen!” shouted Gadarn, fiercely, as his hand involuntarily grasped the hilt of his sword. “If he did, I would cleave him from his skull to his waist—”“Quiet you, my sweet father,” said Branwen, with a little smile, “you know that two can play at that game, and that you have a skull and a waist as well as Bladud—though your waist is a good deal thicker than his. I’m not so sure about the skull!”“I accept your reproof, child, for boastfulness is hateful in a warrior. But get up, my love. What would happen if some one came into the room and found a little old hag sitting on my knee with her arm around my neck?”“Ah, true, father. I did not think of that. I’m rather given to not thinking of some things. Perhaps that inquisitive servitor may be—no, he’s not there this time,” said Branwen, reclosing the door and sitting down on a stool beside the chief. “Now come, father, and learn your lesson.”Gadarn folded his hands and looked at his child with an air of meek humility.“Well?”“Well, first of all, you must tell the king tomorrow, at the right time, that I have just come back, and am very tired and shall not appear till you take me to him while the other people are being presented. Then you will lead me forward and announce me with a loud voice, so that no one shall fail to hear that I am Branwen, your daughter, you understand? Now, mind you speak well out.”“I understand—with a shout, something like my battle-cry!”“Not exactly so loud as that, but so as Bladud shall be sure to hear you; and he will probably be near to his father at the time.”“Just so. What next?”“Oh, that’s all you will have to do. Just retire among the other courtiers then, and leave the rest to me.”“That’s a very short lesson, my little one; would you not like to be introduced to Bladud too? He does not know you, you know.”“Certainly not; that would ruin all—you dear old goose. Just do exactly what I tell you, and you will be sure to go right.”“How like your dear mother you are, my little one, in your modest requirements!”Having finished the lesson, the little old woman retired to a remote part of the palace which, through Hafrydda’s influence, had been assigned to her, and the great northern chief, unbuckling his sword-belt, called lustily for his mid-day meal.Customs at that date, you see, were more free-and-easy than they are now, and less ceremonious. The visitors at the palace of King Hudibras were expected only to appear at the royal board at the evening meal after all the business or pleasure of each day was over. At all other times they were supposed to do as they pleased and shout for food as they happened to require it.It is perhaps unnecessary to comment on the exceeding convenience of this custom, leaving, as it did, every one to follow the bent of inclination, from earliest morn till dewy eve, with the prospect of an enjoyablereunionafter dark—during which, of course, the adventures of each were narrated, exaggerated, underrated, or commented on, as the case might be, and the social enjoyments were enhanced by warlike and sentimental song as well as by more or less—usually more than less—thrilling story.

During the residence of Gadarn at the court of King Hudibras, that wily northern chief had led the king to understand that one of his lieutenants had at last discovered his daughter Branwen in the hands of a band of robbers, from whom he had rescued her, and that he expected her arrival daily.

“But what made the poor child run away?” asked the king at one of his interviews with his friend. “We were all very fond of her, and she of us, I have good reason to believe.”

“I have been told,” replied the chief, “that it was the fear of Gunrig.”

“Gunrig! Why, the man was to wed my daughter. She had no need to fear him.”

“That may be so, but I know—though it is not easy to remember how I came to know it—that Gunrig had been insolent enough to make up to her, after he was defeated by Bladud, and she was so afraid of him that she ran away, and thus fell into the hands of robbers.”

While the chief was speaking, Hudibras clenched his hands and glared fiercely.

“Dared he to think of another girl when he was engaged to my daughter!” he said between his teeth. “It is well that Gunrig is dead, for assuredly I would have killed him.”

“It is well indeed,” returned Gadarn, “for if your killing had not been sufficient, I would have made it more effectual. But he is out of the way now, so we may dismiss him.”

“True—and when may we expect Branwen back again, poor child?” asked the king.

“In a day or two at latest. From what was told me by the runner who was sent on in advance, it is possible that she may be here to-morrow, in time for the sports.”

The wily chief had settled it in his own mind that Branwen should arrive exactly at the time when there was to be a presentation of chiefs; which ceremony was to take place just before the commencement of the sports. This arrangement he had come to in concert with a little old woman in a grey shawl, who paid him a private visit daily.

“Do you know, Gadarn, who this youth Cormac is, whom Bladud raves so much about?”

The northern chief was seized at that moment with one of those violent fits of sneezing to which of late he had become unpleasantly subject.

“Oh! ye—ye—y–ha! yes;—excuse me, king, but since I went to that Hot Swamp, something seems to have gone wrong wi’—wi’—ha! my nose.”

“Something will go worse wrong with it, chief, if you go on like that. I thought the last one must have split it. Well, what know you about Cormac?”

“That he appears to be a very good fellow. I can say nothing more about him than that, except that your son seems to think he owes his life to his good nursing at a critical point in his illness.”

“I know that well enough,” returned the king, “for Bladud has impressed it on me at least a dozen times. He seems to be very grateful. Indeed so am I, and it would please me much if I had an opportunity of showing my gratitude to the lad. Think you that there is any chance of finding out where he has disappeared to?”

“Not the least chance in the world.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed the king in surprise. “That is strange, for Bladud, who has just left me, says that he has the best of reasons for believing that we shall have certain news of him tomorrow. But go, Gadarn, and consult my doctor about this complaint of yours, which interrupts conversation so awkwardly. We can resume our talk at some other time.”

Gadarn obediently went, holding his sides as if in agony, and sneezing in a manner that caused the roof-tree of the palace to vibrate.

Returning to his own room he found the little old woman in grey awaiting him.

“You’ve been laughing again, father,” she said. “I see by the purpleness of your face. You’ll burst yourself at last if you go on so.”

“Oh! you little old hag—oh! Cormac—oh! Branwen, I hope you won’t be the death of me,” cried the chief, flinging his huge limbs on a couch and giving way to unrestrained laughter, till the tears ran down his cheeks. “If they did not all look so grave when speaking about you, it wouldn’t be so hard to bear. It’s the gravity that kills me. But come, Branwen,” he added, as he suddenly checked himself and took her hand, “what makes you look so anxious, my child?”

“Because I feel frightened, and ashamed, and miserable,” she answered, with no symptom of her sire’s hilarity. “I doubt if I should have followed Bladud—but if I had not he would have died—and I don’t like to think of all the deceptions I have been practising—though I couldn’t very well help it—could I? Then I fear that Bladud will forget Cormac when he learns to despise Branwen—”

“Despise Branwen!” shouted Gadarn, fiercely, as his hand involuntarily grasped the hilt of his sword. “If he did, I would cleave him from his skull to his waist—”

“Quiet you, my sweet father,” said Branwen, with a little smile, “you know that two can play at that game, and that you have a skull and a waist as well as Bladud—though your waist is a good deal thicker than his. I’m not so sure about the skull!”

“I accept your reproof, child, for boastfulness is hateful in a warrior. But get up, my love. What would happen if some one came into the room and found a little old hag sitting on my knee with her arm around my neck?”

“Ah, true, father. I did not think of that. I’m rather given to not thinking of some things. Perhaps that inquisitive servitor may be—no, he’s not there this time,” said Branwen, reclosing the door and sitting down on a stool beside the chief. “Now come, father, and learn your lesson.”

Gadarn folded his hands and looked at his child with an air of meek humility.

“Well?”

“Well, first of all, you must tell the king tomorrow, at the right time, that I have just come back, and am very tired and shall not appear till you take me to him while the other people are being presented. Then you will lead me forward and announce me with a loud voice, so that no one shall fail to hear that I am Branwen, your daughter, you understand? Now, mind you speak well out.”

“I understand—with a shout, something like my battle-cry!”

“Not exactly so loud as that, but so as Bladud shall be sure to hear you; and he will probably be near to his father at the time.”

“Just so. What next?”

“Oh, that’s all you will have to do. Just retire among the other courtiers then, and leave the rest to me.”

“That’s a very short lesson, my little one; would you not like to be introduced to Bladud too? He does not know you, you know.”

“Certainly not; that would ruin all—you dear old goose. Just do exactly what I tell you, and you will be sure to go right.”

“How like your dear mother you are, my little one, in your modest requirements!”

Having finished the lesson, the little old woman retired to a remote part of the palace which, through Hafrydda’s influence, had been assigned to her, and the great northern chief, unbuckling his sword-belt, called lustily for his mid-day meal.

Customs at that date, you see, were more free-and-easy than they are now, and less ceremonious. The visitors at the palace of King Hudibras were expected only to appear at the royal board at the evening meal after all the business or pleasure of each day was over. At all other times they were supposed to do as they pleased and shout for food as they happened to require it.

It is perhaps unnecessary to comment on the exceeding convenience of this custom, leaving, as it did, every one to follow the bent of inclination, from earliest morn till dewy eve, with the prospect of an enjoyablereunionafter dark—during which, of course, the adventures of each were narrated, exaggerated, underrated, or commented on, as the case might be, and the social enjoyments were enhanced by warlike and sentimental song as well as by more or less—usually more than less—thrilling story.

Chapter Thirty Six.The Dénouement.It was a sunny, frosty, glorious forenoon when King Hudibras awoke to the consciousness of the important day that was before him, and the importunate vacuum that was within him.Springing out of bed with a right royal disregard of appearances he summoned his servitor-in-waiting and ordered breakfast.In the breakfast-room he met the queen, Hafrydda, Bladud, and Dromas—the latter being now considered one of the family—and these five proceeded to discuss and arrange the proceedings of the day during the progress of the meal.“You will join in the sports, of course, son Dromas,” said the king, “and show us how the Olympic victors carry themselves. Ha! I should not wonder if a few of our lads will give you some trouble to beat them.”“You may be right, father,” returned the young man, modestly, “for one of your lads has already beaten me at most things.”“You mean Bladud?” returned the king.“Dromas is only so far right,” interposed the prince. “It is true that where mere brute force is required I usually have the advantage, but where grace and speed come into play I am lost.”Of course Dromas would not admit this, and of course Hafrydda’s fair cheeks were crimsoned when the youth, accidentally looking up, caught the princess accidentally gazing at him; and, still more of course, the king, who was sharp as a needle in such matters, observed their confusion and went into a loud laugh, which he declared was only the result of merry thoughts that were simmering in his brain.The reception was to be held in the large hall of the palace. No ladies were to be presented, for it must be remembered that these were barbarous times, and woman had not yet attained to her true position! Indeed, there was to be no ceremony whatever—no throne, no crown, no gold-sticks in waiting or other sticks of any kind. It was to be a sort of free-and-easy conversazione in the presence of the royal family, where, just before the sports began, any one who was moved by that ambition might hold personal intercourse with the king, and converse with him either on the affairs of State, or on private matters, or subjects of a more light and social kind—such as the weather.At the appointed hour—which was indicated by that rough and ready but most natural of sun-dials, the shadow of a tree falling on a certain spot—the royal family adjourned to the large hall, and the unceremonious ceremony began.First of all, on the doors being thrown open a crowd of nobles—or warriors—entered, and while one of them went to the king, and began an earnest entreaty that war might be declared without delay against a certain chief who was particularly obnoxious to him, another sauntered up to the princess and began a mild flirtation in the primitive manner, which was characteristic of the sons of Mars in that day—to the unutterable jealousy of Dromas, who instantly marked him down as a fit subject for overwhelming defeat at the approaching games. At the same time the family doctor paid his respects to the queen and began to entertain her with graphic accounts of recent cases—for doctors had no objection to talking “shop” in those days.We have said that no ladies were admitted to places of public importance, such as grand-stands or large halls, but we have also pointed out that the ladies of the royal family and their female friends formed an exception to the rule. It was, as it were, the dawn of women’s freedom—the insertion of the small end of that wedge which Christianity and civilisation were destined to drive home—sometimes too far home!Gradually the hall began to fill, and the hum of conversation became loud, when there was a slight bustle at the door which caused a modification though not a cessation of the noise.It was caused by the entrance of Gadarn leading Branwen by the hand. The girl was now dressed in the costume that befitted her age and sex, and it is best described by the word simplicity. Her rich auburn hair fell in short natural curls on her neck—the luxuriant volume of it having, as the reader is aware, been sacrificed some time before. She wore no ornament of any kind save, on one side of her beautiful head, a small bunch of wild-flowers that had survived the frost.At the time of their entrance, Bladud was stooping to talk with Hafrydda and did not observe them, but when he heard Gadarn’s sonorous voice he turned with interest to listen.“King Hudibras,” said the northern chief, in a tone that produced instant silence, “I have found the lost one—my daughter Branwen.”As they moved through the crowd of tall warriors Bladud could not at first catch sight of the girl.“Ha! Hafrydda,” he said, with a pleasant smile, “your young friend and companion found at last. I congratulate you. I’m so glad that—”He stopped, the colour fled from his cheeks, his chest heaved. He almost gasped for breath. Could he believe his eyes, for there stood a girl with the features, the hair, the eyes of Cormac, but infinitely more beautiful!For some time the poor prince stood utterly bereft of speech. Fortunately no one observed him, as all were too much taken up with what was going on. The king clasped the girl’s hands and kissed her on both cheeks. Then the queen followed, and asked her how she could have been so cruel as to remain so long away. And Branwen said a few words in reply.It seemed as if an electric shock passed through Bladud, for the voice also was the voice of Cormac!At this point the prince turned to look at his sister. She was gazing earnestly into his face.“Hafrydda—is—is that really Branwen?”“Yes, brother, that is Branwen. I must go to her.”As she spoke, she started off at a run and threw her arms round her friend’s neck.“I cannot—cannot believe it is you,” she exclaimed aloud—and then, whispering in Branwen’s ear, “oh! you wicked creature, to make such a hypocrite of me. But come,” she added aloud, “come to my room. I must have you all to myself alone.”For one moment, as they passed, Branwen raised her eyes, and, as they met those of the prince, a deep blush overspread her face. Another moment and the two friends had left the hall together.We need not weary the reader by describing the games and festivities that followed. Such matters have probably been much the same, in all important respects, since the beginning of time. There was a vast amount of enthusiasm and willingness to be contented with little on the part of the people, and an incredible desire to talk and delay matters, and waste time, on the part of judges, umpires, and starters, but there was nothing particularly noteworthy, except that Bladud consented to run one race with his friend Dromas, and was signally beaten by him, to the secret satisfaction of Hafrydda, and the open amusement of the king.But Branwen did not appear at the games, nor did she appear again during the remainder of that day, and poor Bladud was obliged to restrain his anxiety, for he felt constrained to remain beside his father, and, somehow, he failed in his various attempts to have a few words of conversation with his mother.At last, like all sublunary things, the games came to an end, and the prince hastened to his sister’s room.“May I come in?” he asked, knocking.“Yes, brother.”There was a peculiar tone in her voice, and a curious expression in her eyes, that the prince did not fail to note.“Hafrydda,” he exclaimed, eagerly, “there isnoCormac?”“True, brother, there is no Cormac—there never was. Branwen and Cormac are one!”“And you knew it—andsheknew it, all along. Oh, why did you agree to deceive me?”“Nay, brother, I did not mean to deceive you—at least not at first. Neither did Branwen. I knew nothing about it till she came home, after being with you at the Swamp, and told me that she was impelled by sheer pity to follow you, intending to nurse you; thinking at first that we had let you go to die alone. Then she was caught in the woods by robbers, and she only escaped from them by putting on a boy’s dress and running away. They gave chase, however, caught her up, and, had it not been for you, would have recaptured her. The rest you know. But now, brother, I am jealous for my dear friend. She has expressed fear that, in her great pity for you, she may be thought to have acted an unwomanly part, and that you will perhaps despise her.”“Unwomanly! despise!” exclaimed Bladud in amazement. “Hafrydda, do you regard me as a monster of ingratitude?”“Nay, brother, that do I not. I think that you could never despise one who has felt such genuine pity for you as to risk and endure so much.”“Hafrydda, do you think there is no stronger feeling than pity for me in the heart of Branwen?” asked Bladud in a subdued, earnest voice.“That you must find out for yourself, brother,” answered the princess. “Yet after all, if you are only fond of Cormac, what matters the feeling that may be in the heart of Branwen? Are you in love with her already, Bladud, after so short an acquaintance?”“In love with her!” exclaimed the prince. “There is no Cormac. There is but one woman in the wide world now—”“That is not complimentary to your mother and myself, I fear,” interrupted his sister.“But,” continued the prince, paying no regard to the interruption, “is there any chance—any hope—of—of—something stronger than pity being in her heart?”“I say again, ask that of herself, Bladud; but now I think of it,” added the princess, leaping up in haste, “I am almost too late to keep an appointment with Dromas!”She went out hurriedly, and the prince, full of new-born hopes mingled with depressing anxieties, went away into the neighbouring woods to meditate—for, in the haste of her departure, Hafrydda had neglected to tell him where Branwen was to be found, and he shrank from mentioning her name to any one else.But accident—as we call it—sometimes brings about what the most laboured design fails to accomplish.Owing to a feeling of anxiety which she could not shake off, Branwen had gone out that evening to cool her fevered brow in the woods, just a few minutes before the prince entered them. It was a strange coincidence; but are not all coincidences strange?Seating herself on a fallen tree she cast up her eyes towards the sky where a solitary star, like a beacon of hope, was beginning to twinkle. She had not been there more than a few minutes when a rustle in the neighbouring thicket startled her. Almost before she had time to look round the prince stood before her. She trembled, for now she felt that the decisive hour had come—whether for good or evil.Seating himself beside her, the prince took one of her hands in his and looked steadily into her downcast face.“Corm— Bran—” he began, and stopped.She looked up.“Branwen,” he said, in a low, calm voice, “will it pain you very much to know that I am glad—inexpressibly glad—that there is no youth Cormac in all the wide world?”Whether she was pained or not the girl did not say, but there was a language in her eyes which induced Bladud to slip his disengaged arm round—well, well, there are some things more easily conceived than described. She seemed about to speak, but Bladud stopped her mouth—how, we need not tell—not rudely, you may be sure—suffice to say that when the moon arose an hour later, and looked down into the forest that evening she saw the prince and Branwen still seated, hand in hand, on the fallen tree, gazing in rapt attention at the stars.

It was a sunny, frosty, glorious forenoon when King Hudibras awoke to the consciousness of the important day that was before him, and the importunate vacuum that was within him.

Springing out of bed with a right royal disregard of appearances he summoned his servitor-in-waiting and ordered breakfast.

In the breakfast-room he met the queen, Hafrydda, Bladud, and Dromas—the latter being now considered one of the family—and these five proceeded to discuss and arrange the proceedings of the day during the progress of the meal.

“You will join in the sports, of course, son Dromas,” said the king, “and show us how the Olympic victors carry themselves. Ha! I should not wonder if a few of our lads will give you some trouble to beat them.”

“You may be right, father,” returned the young man, modestly, “for one of your lads has already beaten me at most things.”

“You mean Bladud?” returned the king.

“Dromas is only so far right,” interposed the prince. “It is true that where mere brute force is required I usually have the advantage, but where grace and speed come into play I am lost.”

Of course Dromas would not admit this, and of course Hafrydda’s fair cheeks were crimsoned when the youth, accidentally looking up, caught the princess accidentally gazing at him; and, still more of course, the king, who was sharp as a needle in such matters, observed their confusion and went into a loud laugh, which he declared was only the result of merry thoughts that were simmering in his brain.

The reception was to be held in the large hall of the palace. No ladies were to be presented, for it must be remembered that these were barbarous times, and woman had not yet attained to her true position! Indeed, there was to be no ceremony whatever—no throne, no crown, no gold-sticks in waiting or other sticks of any kind. It was to be a sort of free-and-easy conversazione in the presence of the royal family, where, just before the sports began, any one who was moved by that ambition might hold personal intercourse with the king, and converse with him either on the affairs of State, or on private matters, or subjects of a more light and social kind—such as the weather.

At the appointed hour—which was indicated by that rough and ready but most natural of sun-dials, the shadow of a tree falling on a certain spot—the royal family adjourned to the large hall, and the unceremonious ceremony began.

First of all, on the doors being thrown open a crowd of nobles—or warriors—entered, and while one of them went to the king, and began an earnest entreaty that war might be declared without delay against a certain chief who was particularly obnoxious to him, another sauntered up to the princess and began a mild flirtation in the primitive manner, which was characteristic of the sons of Mars in that day—to the unutterable jealousy of Dromas, who instantly marked him down as a fit subject for overwhelming defeat at the approaching games. At the same time the family doctor paid his respects to the queen and began to entertain her with graphic accounts of recent cases—for doctors had no objection to talking “shop” in those days.

We have said that no ladies were admitted to places of public importance, such as grand-stands or large halls, but we have also pointed out that the ladies of the royal family and their female friends formed an exception to the rule. It was, as it were, the dawn of women’s freedom—the insertion of the small end of that wedge which Christianity and civilisation were destined to drive home—sometimes too far home!

Gradually the hall began to fill, and the hum of conversation became loud, when there was a slight bustle at the door which caused a modification though not a cessation of the noise.

It was caused by the entrance of Gadarn leading Branwen by the hand. The girl was now dressed in the costume that befitted her age and sex, and it is best described by the word simplicity. Her rich auburn hair fell in short natural curls on her neck—the luxuriant volume of it having, as the reader is aware, been sacrificed some time before. She wore no ornament of any kind save, on one side of her beautiful head, a small bunch of wild-flowers that had survived the frost.

At the time of their entrance, Bladud was stooping to talk with Hafrydda and did not observe them, but when he heard Gadarn’s sonorous voice he turned with interest to listen.

“King Hudibras,” said the northern chief, in a tone that produced instant silence, “I have found the lost one—my daughter Branwen.”

As they moved through the crowd of tall warriors Bladud could not at first catch sight of the girl.

“Ha! Hafrydda,” he said, with a pleasant smile, “your young friend and companion found at last. I congratulate you. I’m so glad that—”

He stopped, the colour fled from his cheeks, his chest heaved. He almost gasped for breath. Could he believe his eyes, for there stood a girl with the features, the hair, the eyes of Cormac, but infinitely more beautiful!

For some time the poor prince stood utterly bereft of speech. Fortunately no one observed him, as all were too much taken up with what was going on. The king clasped the girl’s hands and kissed her on both cheeks. Then the queen followed, and asked her how she could have been so cruel as to remain so long away. And Branwen said a few words in reply.

It seemed as if an electric shock passed through Bladud, for the voice also was the voice of Cormac!

At this point the prince turned to look at his sister. She was gazing earnestly into his face.

“Hafrydda—is—is that really Branwen?”

“Yes, brother, that is Branwen. I must go to her.”

As she spoke, she started off at a run and threw her arms round her friend’s neck.

“I cannot—cannot believe it is you,” she exclaimed aloud—and then, whispering in Branwen’s ear, “oh! you wicked creature, to make such a hypocrite of me. But come,” she added aloud, “come to my room. I must have you all to myself alone.”

For one moment, as they passed, Branwen raised her eyes, and, as they met those of the prince, a deep blush overspread her face. Another moment and the two friends had left the hall together.

We need not weary the reader by describing the games and festivities that followed. Such matters have probably been much the same, in all important respects, since the beginning of time. There was a vast amount of enthusiasm and willingness to be contented with little on the part of the people, and an incredible desire to talk and delay matters, and waste time, on the part of judges, umpires, and starters, but there was nothing particularly noteworthy, except that Bladud consented to run one race with his friend Dromas, and was signally beaten by him, to the secret satisfaction of Hafrydda, and the open amusement of the king.

But Branwen did not appear at the games, nor did she appear again during the remainder of that day, and poor Bladud was obliged to restrain his anxiety, for he felt constrained to remain beside his father, and, somehow, he failed in his various attempts to have a few words of conversation with his mother.

At last, like all sublunary things, the games came to an end, and the prince hastened to his sister’s room.

“May I come in?” he asked, knocking.

“Yes, brother.”

There was a peculiar tone in her voice, and a curious expression in her eyes, that the prince did not fail to note.

“Hafrydda,” he exclaimed, eagerly, “there isnoCormac?”

“True, brother, there is no Cormac—there never was. Branwen and Cormac are one!”

“And you knew it—andsheknew it, all along. Oh, why did you agree to deceive me?”

“Nay, brother, I did not mean to deceive you—at least not at first. Neither did Branwen. I knew nothing about it till she came home, after being with you at the Swamp, and told me that she was impelled by sheer pity to follow you, intending to nurse you; thinking at first that we had let you go to die alone. Then she was caught in the woods by robbers, and she only escaped from them by putting on a boy’s dress and running away. They gave chase, however, caught her up, and, had it not been for you, would have recaptured her. The rest you know. But now, brother, I am jealous for my dear friend. She has expressed fear that, in her great pity for you, she may be thought to have acted an unwomanly part, and that you will perhaps despise her.”

“Unwomanly! despise!” exclaimed Bladud in amazement. “Hafrydda, do you regard me as a monster of ingratitude?”

“Nay, brother, that do I not. I think that you could never despise one who has felt such genuine pity for you as to risk and endure so much.”

“Hafrydda, do you think there is no stronger feeling than pity for me in the heart of Branwen?” asked Bladud in a subdued, earnest voice.

“That you must find out for yourself, brother,” answered the princess. “Yet after all, if you are only fond of Cormac, what matters the feeling that may be in the heart of Branwen? Are you in love with her already, Bladud, after so short an acquaintance?”

“In love with her!” exclaimed the prince. “There is no Cormac. There is but one woman in the wide world now—”

“That is not complimentary to your mother and myself, I fear,” interrupted his sister.

“But,” continued the prince, paying no regard to the interruption, “is there any chance—any hope—of—of—something stronger than pity being in her heart?”

“I say again, ask that of herself, Bladud; but now I think of it,” added the princess, leaping up in haste, “I am almost too late to keep an appointment with Dromas!”

She went out hurriedly, and the prince, full of new-born hopes mingled with depressing anxieties, went away into the neighbouring woods to meditate—for, in the haste of her departure, Hafrydda had neglected to tell him where Branwen was to be found, and he shrank from mentioning her name to any one else.

But accident—as we call it—sometimes brings about what the most laboured design fails to accomplish.

Owing to a feeling of anxiety which she could not shake off, Branwen had gone out that evening to cool her fevered brow in the woods, just a few minutes before the prince entered them. It was a strange coincidence; but are not all coincidences strange?

Seating herself on a fallen tree she cast up her eyes towards the sky where a solitary star, like a beacon of hope, was beginning to twinkle. She had not been there more than a few minutes when a rustle in the neighbouring thicket startled her. Almost before she had time to look round the prince stood before her. She trembled, for now she felt that the decisive hour had come—whether for good or evil.

Seating himself beside her, the prince took one of her hands in his and looked steadily into her downcast face.

“Corm— Bran—” he began, and stopped.

She looked up.

“Branwen,” he said, in a low, calm voice, “will it pain you very much to know that I am glad—inexpressibly glad—that there is no youth Cormac in all the wide world?”

Whether she was pained or not the girl did not say, but there was a language in her eyes which induced Bladud to slip his disengaged arm round—well, well, there are some things more easily conceived than described. She seemed about to speak, but Bladud stopped her mouth—how, we need not tell—not rudely, you may be sure—suffice to say that when the moon arose an hour later, and looked down into the forest that evening she saw the prince and Branwen still seated, hand in hand, on the fallen tree, gazing in rapt attention at the stars.

Chapter Thirty Seven.The Last.When Bladud walked out to the Hebrew’s hut next day and informed him of what had taken place, that long-suffering man heaved a deep sigh and expressed his intense relief that the whole affair was at last cleared up and had come to an end.“I cannot view matters in the same light that you do, Beniah,” said the prince, “for, in my opinion, things have only now come to a satisfactory beginning. However, I suppose that you are thinking of the strange perplexities in which you have been involved so long.”“I would not style them perplexities, prince, but intrigues—obvious and unjustifiable intrigues—in which innocent persons have been brought frequently to the verge of falsehood—if they have not, indeed, been forced to overstep the boundary.”“Surely, Beniah, circumstances, against which none of us had power to contend, had somewhat to do with it all, as well as intrigue.”“I care not,” returned the Hebrew, “whether it was the intrigues of your court or the circumstances of it, which were the cause of all the mess in which I and others have been involved, but I am aweary of it, and have made up my mind to leave the place and retire to a remote part of the wilderness, where I may find in solitude solace to my exhausted spirit, and rest to my old bones.”“That will never do, Beniah,” said the prince, laughing. “You take too serious a view of the matter. There is no fear of any more intrigues or circumstances arising to perplex you for some time to come. Besides, I want your services very much—but, before broaching that point, let me ask why you have invited me to come to see you here. Hafrydda gave me your message—”“My message!” repeated the Hebrew in surprise.“Yes—to meet you here this forenoon on urgent business. If it is anything secret you have to tell me, I hope you have not got your wonderful old witch in the back cave, for she seems to have discovered as thorough a cure for deafness as I found for leprosy at the Hot Swamp.”“Wonderful old witch!” repeated Beniah, with a dazed look, and a tone of exasperation that the prince could not account for. “Do you, then, not know about that old woman?”“Oh! yes, I know only too much about her,” replied Bladud. “She has been staying at the palace for some time, as you know, and rather a lively time the old hag has given us. She went in to see my mother one day and threw her into convulsions, from which, I think, she has hardly recovered yet. Then she went to my father’s room—the chief Gadarn and I were with him at the time—and almost before she had time to speak they went into fits of laughter at her till the tears ran down their cheeks. I must say it seemed to me unnecessarily rude and unkind, for, although the woman is a queer old thing, and has little more of her face visible than her piercing black eyes, I could see nothing to laugh at in her shrivelled-up, bent little body. Besides this, she has kept the domestics in a state of constant agitation, for most of them seem to think her a limb of the evil spirit. But what makes you laugh so?”“Oh! I see now,” returned the Hebrew, controlling himself by a strong effort. “I understand now why the old woman wished to be present at our interview. Come forth, thou unconscionable hag!” added Beniah, in the voice of a stentor, “and do your worst. I am past emotion of any kind whatever now.”As he spoke he gazed, with the resigned air of a martyr, at the inner end of his cavern. Bladud also looked in that direction. A moment later and the little old woman with the grey shawl appeared; thrust out the plank bridge; crossed over, and tottered towards them.“Dearie me! Beniah, there’s no need to yell so loud. You know I’ve got back my hearing. What want ye with me? I’m sure I have no wish to pry into the secrets of this young man or yourself. What d’ye want?”But Beniah stood speechless, a strange expression on his face, his lips firmly compressed and his arms folded across his breast.“Have you become as dumb as I was deaf, old man?” asked the woman, petulantly.Still the Hebrew refused to speak.“Have patience with him, old woman,” said Bladud, in a soothing tone. “He is sometimes taken with unaccountable fits—”“Fits!” interrupted the old woman. “I wish he had the fits that I have sometimes. Perhaps they would cure him of his impudence. They would cure you too, young man, of your stupidity.”“Stupidity!” echoed Bladud, much amused. “I have been credited with pride and haste and many other faults in my day, but never with stupidity.”“Was it not stupid of you to go and ask that silly girl to wed you—that double-faced thing that knows how to cheat and deceive and—”“Come, come, old woman,” said the prince, repressing with difficulty a burst of indignation. “You allow your old tongue to wag too freely. I suppose,” he added, turning to Beniah, “that we can conclude our conversation outside?”But the Hebrew still remained immovable and sternly dumb.Unable to understand this, Bladud turned again to the old woman, but, lo! the old woman was gone, and in her place stood Branwen, erect, with the grey shawl thrown back, and a half-timid smile on her face.To say that Bladud was thunderstruck is not sufficient to indicate his condition. He stood as if rooted to the spot with his whole being concentrated in his wide-open blue eyes.“Is my presumption too great, Bladud?” asked the girl, hesitatingly. “I did but wish to assure you that I have no other deceptions to practise. That I fear—I hope—that—”The prince, recovering himself, sprang forward and once again stopped her mouth—not with his hand; oh! by no means!—while Beniah, with that refinement of wisdom which is the prerogative of age, stepped out to ascertain whether it happened to be rain or sunshine that ruled at the time. Curiously enough he found that it was the latter.That evening the doctor of the royal household was summoned by an affrighted servitor to the apartment of Gadarn, who had been overheard choking. The alarmed man of medicine went at once, and, bursting into the room without knocking, found the great northern chief sitting on the edge of his couch purple in the face and with tears in his eyes. The exasperated man leaped up intending to kick the doctor out, but, changing his mind, he kicked the horrified servitor out instead, and, taking the doctor into his confidence, related to him an anecdote which had just been told to him by Bladud.“It will be the death of the king,” said Gadarn. “You had better go to him. He may need your services.”But the king was made of sterner stuff than his friend imagined. He put strong constraint upon himself, and, being not easily overcome by feeling—or anything else under the sun—he lived to relate the same anecdote to his wife and daughter.The day following, Bladud resumed with the Hebrew the conversation that had been interrupted by Branwen.“I was going to have said to you, Beniah, that I want your services very much.”“You had said that much, prince, before Bran—I mean Cor—that is, the old woman—interrupted us. How can I serve you?”“By going back with me to the Hot Swamp and helping to carry out a grand scheme that I have in my brain.”The Hebrew shook his head.“I love not your grand schemes,” he said, somewhat sternly. “The last grand scheme that your father had was one which, if successfully carried out, would have added a large portion of Albion to his dominions, and would have swept several tribes off the face of the earth. As it was, the mere effort to carry it out cost the lives of many of the best young men on both sides, and left hundreds of mothers, wives, sisters, and children to mourn their irreparable losses, and to wonder what all the fighting was about. Indeed, there are not a few grey-bearded men who share that wonder with the women and children, and who cannot, by any effort of their imagination, see what advantage is gained by either party when the fight is over.”“These grey-beards must be thick-skulled, then,” replied the prince with a smile, “for does not the victor retain the land which he has conquered?”“Yea, truly, and he also retains the tombs of the goodly young men who have been slain, and also the widows and sweethearts, and the national loss resulting from the war—for all which the land gained is but a paltry return. Moreover, if the All-seeing One cared only for the victors, there might be some understanding of the matter—though at the cost of justice—but, seeing that He cares for the vanquished quite as much as for the victorious, the gain on one side is counterbalanced by the loss on the other side, while the world at large is all the poorer, first, by the loss of much of its best blood, second, by the creation of a vast amount of unutterable sorrow and bitter hatred, and, third, by a tremendous amount of misdirected energy.“Look, for instance, at the Hot Swamp. Before the late war it was the abode of a happy and prosperous population. Now, it is a desolation. Hundreds of its youth are in premature graves, and nothing whatever has been gained from it by your father that I can see.”“But surely men must defend themselves and their women and children against foes?” said Bladud.“Verily, I did not say they should not,” replied Beniah. “Self-defence is a duty; aggressive war, in most cases (I do not say in all), is a blunder or a sin.”“I think that my mind runs much on the same line with yours, Beniah, as to these things, but I am pretty sure that a good many years will pass over us before the warriors of the present day will see things in this light.”One is apt to smile at Bladud’s prophetic observation, when one reflects that about two thousand seven hundred years have elapsed since that day, and warriors, as well as many civilians, have not managed to see it in this light yet!“However,” continued the prince, “the scheme which runs in my head is not one of war—aggressive or defensive—but one of peace, for the betterment of all mankind. As you know, I have begun to build a city at the Hot Swamp, so that all who are sick may go to that beautiful country and find health, as I did. And I want your help in this scheme.”“That is well, prince, but I see not how I can aid you. I am not an engineer, who could carry out your devices, nor an architect who could plan your dwellings. And I am too old for manual labour—though, of course, it is not for that you want me.”“You are right, Beniah. It is not for that. I have as many strong and willing hands to work as I require, but I want wise heads, full of years and experience, which may aid me in council and guard me from the blunders of youth and inexperience. Besides, man was not, it seems to me, put into this world merely to enjoy himself. If he was, then are the brutes his superiors, for they have no cares, no anxieties about food or raiment, or housing, and they enjoy themselves to the full as long as their little day lasts. There is surely some nobler end for man, and as you have given much study to the works and ways and reputed words of the All-seeing One, I want you to aid me in helping men to look upward—to soar like the eagle above the things of earth, as well as to consider the interests of others, and so, as far as may be, unlearn selfishness. Will you join me for this end?”“That will I, with joy,” answered the Hebrew with kindling eye; “but your ambition soars high, prince. Have you spoken to Branwen on these subjects?”“Of course I have, and she, like a true woman, enters heartily into my plans. Like myself, she does not think that being wedded and happy is the great end of life, but only the beginning of it. When the wedding is over, our minds will then be set free to devote ourselves to the great work before us.”“And what duties in the work will fall to the lot of Branwen?” asked Beniah, with an amused look.“The duties of a wife, of course,” returned the prince. “She will lend a sympathetic ear to all plans and proposals; her ingenious imagination will suggest ideas that might escape my grosser mind; her brilliant fancy will produce combinations that my duller brain would never think of; her hopeful spirit will encourage me to perseverance where accident or disaster has a tendency to demoralise, and her loving spirit will comfort me should failure, great or small, be permitted to overtake me. All this, I admit, sounds very selfish, but you asked me what part Branwen should play in regard tomyschemes. If you had asked me what part I am to play in her life and work, the picture might be inverted to some extent—for our lives will be mutual—though, of course, I can never be to her what she will be to me.”With this exalted idea of the married state, Prince Bladud looked forward to his wedding. Whether Dromas was imbued with similar ideas we cannot tell; but of this we are sure, that he was equally devoted to the princess—as far as outward appearance went—and he entered with keenest zest and appreciation into the plans and aspirations of his friend, with regard to the welfare of mankind in general, and the men of Albion in particular.Not many days after that there was a double wedding at Hudibras town, which created a tremendous sensation throughout all the land. For, although news travelled slowly in those days, the fame of Bladud and his wonderful cure, and his great size and athletic powers, coupled with his Eastern learning, and warlike attainments and peaceful proclivities, not to mention the beauty and romantic adventures of his bride, had made such an impression on what may be styled the whole nation, that noted chiefs came from all parts far and near, to his wedding, bringing as many of their distinguished followers with them as they deemed necessary to safe travelling in an unsettled country. Some even came from the great western island called Erin, and others from the remote isle of the north which lay beyond Gadarn’s country, and was at a later period named Ultima Thule.“I wonder when they’re going to stop coming,” remarked Gadarn to King Hudibras, as the self-invited guests came pouring in.“Let them come,” replied the jovial king, with the air of a man of unlimited means. “The more the merrier. There’s room for all, and the forests are big.”“Some of them, I see,” rejoined Gadarn, “are my mortal foes. We shall now have a chance of becoming mortal friends.”It might be supposed that the assemblage of such a host from all points of the compass would, as it is sometimes expressed, eat King Hudibras out of house and home; but this was not so, for it was the custom at that time for visitors at royal courts to hunt for their victuals—to go in, as it were, for a grand picnic on a continuous basis, so that the palace of our king, instead of being depleted, became surfeited with food. As his preserves were extensive, and game of all kinds abundant, the expense attendant on this kind of hospitality wasnil.It would have been very much the reverse had it been necessary to supply drink, but the art of producing liquids which fuddle, stupefy, and madden, had not yet been learnt in this country. Consequently there was no fighting or bloodshed at those jovial festivities, though there was a certain amount of quarrelling—as might be expected amongst independent men who held different opinions on many subjects, although politics and theology had not yet been invented.Great were the rejoicings when it was discovered, by each band as it arrived, that there was to be a double wedding; that the Princess Hafrydda was to be one of the brides, and that the fortunate man who had won her was a famous warrior of the mysterious East, and one of the victors at the great games of that part of the world.How the ceremony of marriage was performed we have not, after the most painstaking research, been able to ascertain; but that it was performed somehow, and to the satisfaction of all concerned, we are absolutely certain, from the fact that Bladud and Branwen, Dromas and Hafrydda, lived happily together as man and wife for many years afterwards, and brought up large families of stalwart sons and daughters to strengthen the power and increase the prestige of Old Albion.This, however, by the way. Of course the chief amusement of the guests was games, followed by songs and dancing in the evenings. And one of the favourite amusements at the games was scientific boxing, for that was an entirely new art to the warriors, alike of Albion, Erin, and Ultima Thule.It first burst upon their senses as a new and grand idea when Bladud and Dromas, at the urgent request of their friends, stepped into the arena and gave a specimen of the manner in which the art was practised in Hellas. Of course they did not use what we call knuckle-dusters, nor did they even double their fists, except when moving round each other, and as “gloves” were unknown, they struck out with the hands half open, for they had no wish to bleed each other’s noses or black each other’s eyes for mere amusement.At the beginning it was thought that Dromas was no match at all for the gigantic Bladud, but when the wonderful agility of the former was seen—the ease with which he ducked and turned aside his head to evade blows, and the lightning speed with which he countered, giving a touch on the forehead or a dig in the ribs, smiling all the time as if to say, “How d’ye like it?” men’s minds changed with shouts of surprise and satisfaction. And they highly approved of the way in which the champions smilingly shook hands after the bout was over—as they had done before it began.They did not, however, perceive the full value of the art until an ambitious young chief from Ultima Thule—a man of immense size and rugged mould with red hair—insisted on Dromas giving him a lesson. The man from Hellas declined at first, but the man from Thule was urgent, and there seemed to be a feeling among the warriors that the young Hellene was afraid.“It is so difficult,” he explained, “to hit lightly and swiftly that sometimes an unintentionally hard blow is given, and men are apt to lose their tempers.”This was received with a loud laugh by the Thuler.“What!Ilose my temper on account of a friendly buffet! Besides, I shall take care not to hit hard—you need not fear.”“As you will,” returned Dromas, with a good-humoured smile.The Thuler stood up and allowed his instructor to put him in the correct attitude. Then the latter faced him and said, “Now, guard yourself.”Next moment his left hand shot out and gently touched his opponent’s nose. The Thuler received the touch with what he deemed an orthodox smile and tried to guard it after it had been delivered.Then he struck out with his left—being an apt pupil—but Dromas drew back and the blow did not reach him. Then he struck out smartly with his right, but the Hellene put his head to one side and let it pass. Again he struck out rapidly, one hand after the other, without much care whether the blows were light or heavy. Dromas evaded both without guarding, and, in reply, gave the Thuler a smartish touch on his unfortunate nose.This was received by the assemblage with a wild shout of surprise and delight, and the Thuler became grave; collected himself as if for real business, and suddenly let out a shower of blows which, had they taken effect, would soon have ended the match, but his blows only fell on air, for Dromas evaded them with ease, returning every now and then a tap on the old spot or a touch on the forehead. At last, seeing that the man was losing temper, he gave him a sharp dig in the wind which caused him to gasp, and a sounding buffet on the cheek which caused him to howl with rage and feel for the hilt of his sword. That dangerous weapon, however, had been judiciously removed by his friends. He therefore rushed at his antagonist, resolved to annihilate him, but was received with two genuine blows—one in the wind, the other on the forehead, which stretched him on the sward.The Thuler rose therefrom with a dazed look, and accepted the Hellene’s friendly shake of the hand with an unmeaning smile.After the sports had continued for several days King Hudibras proposed an excursion—a sort of gigantic picnic—to the Hot Swamp, where Bladud and his friend had made up their mind to spend their honeymoon.Arrived there, they found that immense progress had been made with the new city—insomuch that Dromas assured Hafrydda that it brought to his mind some very ancient fables of great cities rising spontaneously from the ground to the sound of pipes played by the gods.The baths, too, were in such an advanced stage that they were able to fill them on the arrival of the host and allow the interested and impatient chiefs to bathe.“Don’t let them go in till you give the signal that the baths are ready,” said Gadarn to the king in that grave, suppressed manner which indicated that the northern chief was inclined to mischief.“Why?” asked the king.“Because, as I understand, you love fair play and no favour. It would not be fair to let some begin before others. They might feel it, you know, and quarrel.”“Very well, so be it,” returned the king, and gave orders that no one was to go near the baths until they were quite full, when he would give the signal.The chiefs and warriors entering into the spirit of the thing, took quite a boyish delight in stripping themselves and preparing for a rush.“Now, are you ready?” said the king.“Ay, all ready.”“Away, then!”The warlike host rushed to the brink of the largest bath and plunged in—some head, others feet, first. But they came out almost as fast as they went in—yelling and spluttering—for the water was much too hot!“Ah! I see now,” growled the king, turning to Gadarn—but Gadarn was gone. He found him, a minute later, behind a bush, in fits!Pacifying the warriors with some difficulty—for they were a hot-headed generation—the king, being directed by Bladud, ordered the water from the cold lake to be turned on until the bath became bearable. Then the warriors re-entered it again more sedately. The warm water soon restored their equanimity, and ere long the unusual sight was to be seen of bearded men and smooth chins, rugged men and striplings, rolling about like porpoises, shouting, laughing, and indulging in horse-play like veritable boys.Truly warmth has much to do with the felicity of mankind!Towards afternoon the warriors were ordered to turn out, and, after the water had been allowed to run till it was clear, King Hudibras descended into it with much gravity and a good deal of what was in those ages considered to be ceremonial effect. This was done by way of taking formal possession of the Hot Springs. He was greatly cheered during the process by the admiring visitors, as well as physically by the hot water, and it is said that while his son Bladud was dutifully rubbing him down in the neighbouring booth, he remarked that it was the best bath he ever had in his life, that he would visit the place periodically as long as he lived, and that a palace must be built there for his accommodation.From that day the bath was named the “King’s Bath,” and it is so named at the present day.Soon after that the queen visited the Swamp and, with her ladies, made use of the bath which had been specially prepared for women; and this one went by the name of the “Queen’s Bath” thereafter. Its site, however, is not now certainly known, and it is not to be confounded with the “Queen’s Bath” of the present day, which was named after Queen Anne.Prince Bladud lived to carry out most of his plans. He built a palace for his father in Swamptown. He built a palace for himself and Branwen, with a wing to it for Dromas and Hafrydda, and took up his permanent abode there when he afterwards became king. At the death of his father he added another wing for the queen-mother—with internal doors opening from each wing to the other, in order that they might live, so to speak, as one family. This arrangement worked admirably until the families became large, and the younger members obstreperous, when the internal doors were occasionally, even frequently, shut. He also built a snug house for Konar, and made him Hunter-General to the Royal Household. It is said that, owing to the genial influence of Bladud’s kind nature, Konar recovered his reason, and, forgetting the false fair-one who had jilted him, took to himself a helpmate who more than made up for her loss.Captain Arkal soon found that his passion for hot water cooled. As it did so, his love for salt water revived. He returned to Hellas, and, after paying his respects to his pretty Greek wife, and dandling the solid, square, bluff, and resolute baby, he reloaded his ship and returned to Albion. Thus he went and came for many years.Little Maikar, however, did not follow his example. True, he accompanied his old captain on his first trip to Hellas, but that was for the purpose of getting possession of a dark-eyed maiden who awaited him there; with whom he returned to Swamptown, and, in that lovely region, spent the remainder of his life.Even Addedomar was weaned from outlawry to honesty by the irresistible solicitations of Bladud, and as, in modern times, many an incorrigible poacher makes a first-rate gamekeeper, so the robber-chief became an able head-huntsman under the Hunter-General. The irony of Fate decreed, however, that the man who had once contemplated three wives was not to marry at all. He dwelt with his mother Ortrud to the end of her days in a small house not far from the residence of Konar. Gunrig’s mother also dwelt with them—not that she had any particular regard for them personally, but in order that she might be near to the beautiful girl who had been beloved by her son.Gadarn, the great northern chief, ever afterwards paid an annual visit to Swamptown. While that visit lasted there was a general feeling in the palace—especially among the young people—that a jovial hurricane was blowing. During the daytime the gale made itself felt in loud hilarious laughter, song, and story. At night it blew steadily through his nose. After his departure an unaccountable calm seemed to settle down upon the whole region!Beniah performed with powerful effect the task allotted to him, for, both by precept and example, he so set forth and obeyed the laws of God that the tone of society was imperceptibly elevated. Men came to know, and to act upon the knowledge, that this world was not their rest; that there is a better life beyond, and, in the contemplation of that life, they, somehow, made this life more agreeable to themselves and to each other.Time, which never intermits the beating of his fateful wings, flew by; the centuries rolled on; the Roman invaders came; the Norsemen and Saxons came, the Norman conquerors came, and each left their mark, deep and lasting, on the people and on the land—but they could not check by one hair’s-breadth the perennial flow of the springs in the Hot Swamp, or obliterate the legend on which is founded this Romance of Old Albion.The End.

When Bladud walked out to the Hebrew’s hut next day and informed him of what had taken place, that long-suffering man heaved a deep sigh and expressed his intense relief that the whole affair was at last cleared up and had come to an end.

“I cannot view matters in the same light that you do, Beniah,” said the prince, “for, in my opinion, things have only now come to a satisfactory beginning. However, I suppose that you are thinking of the strange perplexities in which you have been involved so long.”

“I would not style them perplexities, prince, but intrigues—obvious and unjustifiable intrigues—in which innocent persons have been brought frequently to the verge of falsehood—if they have not, indeed, been forced to overstep the boundary.”

“Surely, Beniah, circumstances, against which none of us had power to contend, had somewhat to do with it all, as well as intrigue.”

“I care not,” returned the Hebrew, “whether it was the intrigues of your court or the circumstances of it, which were the cause of all the mess in which I and others have been involved, but I am aweary of it, and have made up my mind to leave the place and retire to a remote part of the wilderness, where I may find in solitude solace to my exhausted spirit, and rest to my old bones.”

“That will never do, Beniah,” said the prince, laughing. “You take too serious a view of the matter. There is no fear of any more intrigues or circumstances arising to perplex you for some time to come. Besides, I want your services very much—but, before broaching that point, let me ask why you have invited me to come to see you here. Hafrydda gave me your message—”

“My message!” repeated the Hebrew in surprise.

“Yes—to meet you here this forenoon on urgent business. If it is anything secret you have to tell me, I hope you have not got your wonderful old witch in the back cave, for she seems to have discovered as thorough a cure for deafness as I found for leprosy at the Hot Swamp.”

“Wonderful old witch!” repeated Beniah, with a dazed look, and a tone of exasperation that the prince could not account for. “Do you, then, not know about that old woman?”

“Oh! yes, I know only too much about her,” replied Bladud. “She has been staying at the palace for some time, as you know, and rather a lively time the old hag has given us. She went in to see my mother one day and threw her into convulsions, from which, I think, she has hardly recovered yet. Then she went to my father’s room—the chief Gadarn and I were with him at the time—and almost before she had time to speak they went into fits of laughter at her till the tears ran down their cheeks. I must say it seemed to me unnecessarily rude and unkind, for, although the woman is a queer old thing, and has little more of her face visible than her piercing black eyes, I could see nothing to laugh at in her shrivelled-up, bent little body. Besides this, she has kept the domestics in a state of constant agitation, for most of them seem to think her a limb of the evil spirit. But what makes you laugh so?”

“Oh! I see now,” returned the Hebrew, controlling himself by a strong effort. “I understand now why the old woman wished to be present at our interview. Come forth, thou unconscionable hag!” added Beniah, in the voice of a stentor, “and do your worst. I am past emotion of any kind whatever now.”

As he spoke he gazed, with the resigned air of a martyr, at the inner end of his cavern. Bladud also looked in that direction. A moment later and the little old woman with the grey shawl appeared; thrust out the plank bridge; crossed over, and tottered towards them.

“Dearie me! Beniah, there’s no need to yell so loud. You know I’ve got back my hearing. What want ye with me? I’m sure I have no wish to pry into the secrets of this young man or yourself. What d’ye want?”

But Beniah stood speechless, a strange expression on his face, his lips firmly compressed and his arms folded across his breast.

“Have you become as dumb as I was deaf, old man?” asked the woman, petulantly.

Still the Hebrew refused to speak.

“Have patience with him, old woman,” said Bladud, in a soothing tone. “He is sometimes taken with unaccountable fits—”

“Fits!” interrupted the old woman. “I wish he had the fits that I have sometimes. Perhaps they would cure him of his impudence. They would cure you too, young man, of your stupidity.”

“Stupidity!” echoed Bladud, much amused. “I have been credited with pride and haste and many other faults in my day, but never with stupidity.”

“Was it not stupid of you to go and ask that silly girl to wed you—that double-faced thing that knows how to cheat and deceive and—”

“Come, come, old woman,” said the prince, repressing with difficulty a burst of indignation. “You allow your old tongue to wag too freely. I suppose,” he added, turning to Beniah, “that we can conclude our conversation outside?”

But the Hebrew still remained immovable and sternly dumb.

Unable to understand this, Bladud turned again to the old woman, but, lo! the old woman was gone, and in her place stood Branwen, erect, with the grey shawl thrown back, and a half-timid smile on her face.

To say that Bladud was thunderstruck is not sufficient to indicate his condition. He stood as if rooted to the spot with his whole being concentrated in his wide-open blue eyes.

“Is my presumption too great, Bladud?” asked the girl, hesitatingly. “I did but wish to assure you that I have no other deceptions to practise. That I fear—I hope—that—”

The prince, recovering himself, sprang forward and once again stopped her mouth—not with his hand; oh! by no means!—while Beniah, with that refinement of wisdom which is the prerogative of age, stepped out to ascertain whether it happened to be rain or sunshine that ruled at the time. Curiously enough he found that it was the latter.

That evening the doctor of the royal household was summoned by an affrighted servitor to the apartment of Gadarn, who had been overheard choking. The alarmed man of medicine went at once, and, bursting into the room without knocking, found the great northern chief sitting on the edge of his couch purple in the face and with tears in his eyes. The exasperated man leaped up intending to kick the doctor out, but, changing his mind, he kicked the horrified servitor out instead, and, taking the doctor into his confidence, related to him an anecdote which had just been told to him by Bladud.

“It will be the death of the king,” said Gadarn. “You had better go to him. He may need your services.”

But the king was made of sterner stuff than his friend imagined. He put strong constraint upon himself, and, being not easily overcome by feeling—or anything else under the sun—he lived to relate the same anecdote to his wife and daughter.

The day following, Bladud resumed with the Hebrew the conversation that had been interrupted by Branwen.

“I was going to have said to you, Beniah, that I want your services very much.”

“You had said that much, prince, before Bran—I mean Cor—that is, the old woman—interrupted us. How can I serve you?”

“By going back with me to the Hot Swamp and helping to carry out a grand scheme that I have in my brain.”

The Hebrew shook his head.

“I love not your grand schemes,” he said, somewhat sternly. “The last grand scheme that your father had was one which, if successfully carried out, would have added a large portion of Albion to his dominions, and would have swept several tribes off the face of the earth. As it was, the mere effort to carry it out cost the lives of many of the best young men on both sides, and left hundreds of mothers, wives, sisters, and children to mourn their irreparable losses, and to wonder what all the fighting was about. Indeed, there are not a few grey-bearded men who share that wonder with the women and children, and who cannot, by any effort of their imagination, see what advantage is gained by either party when the fight is over.”

“These grey-beards must be thick-skulled, then,” replied the prince with a smile, “for does not the victor retain the land which he has conquered?”

“Yea, truly, and he also retains the tombs of the goodly young men who have been slain, and also the widows and sweethearts, and the national loss resulting from the war—for all which the land gained is but a paltry return. Moreover, if the All-seeing One cared only for the victors, there might be some understanding of the matter—though at the cost of justice—but, seeing that He cares for the vanquished quite as much as for the victorious, the gain on one side is counterbalanced by the loss on the other side, while the world at large is all the poorer, first, by the loss of much of its best blood, second, by the creation of a vast amount of unutterable sorrow and bitter hatred, and, third, by a tremendous amount of misdirected energy.

“Look, for instance, at the Hot Swamp. Before the late war it was the abode of a happy and prosperous population. Now, it is a desolation. Hundreds of its youth are in premature graves, and nothing whatever has been gained from it by your father that I can see.”

“But surely men must defend themselves and their women and children against foes?” said Bladud.

“Verily, I did not say they should not,” replied Beniah. “Self-defence is a duty; aggressive war, in most cases (I do not say in all), is a blunder or a sin.”

“I think that my mind runs much on the same line with yours, Beniah, as to these things, but I am pretty sure that a good many years will pass over us before the warriors of the present day will see things in this light.”

One is apt to smile at Bladud’s prophetic observation, when one reflects that about two thousand seven hundred years have elapsed since that day, and warriors, as well as many civilians, have not managed to see it in this light yet!

“However,” continued the prince, “the scheme which runs in my head is not one of war—aggressive or defensive—but one of peace, for the betterment of all mankind. As you know, I have begun to build a city at the Hot Swamp, so that all who are sick may go to that beautiful country and find health, as I did. And I want your help in this scheme.”

“That is well, prince, but I see not how I can aid you. I am not an engineer, who could carry out your devices, nor an architect who could plan your dwellings. And I am too old for manual labour—though, of course, it is not for that you want me.”

“You are right, Beniah. It is not for that. I have as many strong and willing hands to work as I require, but I want wise heads, full of years and experience, which may aid me in council and guard me from the blunders of youth and inexperience. Besides, man was not, it seems to me, put into this world merely to enjoy himself. If he was, then are the brutes his superiors, for they have no cares, no anxieties about food or raiment, or housing, and they enjoy themselves to the full as long as their little day lasts. There is surely some nobler end for man, and as you have given much study to the works and ways and reputed words of the All-seeing One, I want you to aid me in helping men to look upward—to soar like the eagle above the things of earth, as well as to consider the interests of others, and so, as far as may be, unlearn selfishness. Will you join me for this end?”

“That will I, with joy,” answered the Hebrew with kindling eye; “but your ambition soars high, prince. Have you spoken to Branwen on these subjects?”

“Of course I have, and she, like a true woman, enters heartily into my plans. Like myself, she does not think that being wedded and happy is the great end of life, but only the beginning of it. When the wedding is over, our minds will then be set free to devote ourselves to the great work before us.”

“And what duties in the work will fall to the lot of Branwen?” asked Beniah, with an amused look.

“The duties of a wife, of course,” returned the prince. “She will lend a sympathetic ear to all plans and proposals; her ingenious imagination will suggest ideas that might escape my grosser mind; her brilliant fancy will produce combinations that my duller brain would never think of; her hopeful spirit will encourage me to perseverance where accident or disaster has a tendency to demoralise, and her loving spirit will comfort me should failure, great or small, be permitted to overtake me. All this, I admit, sounds very selfish, but you asked me what part Branwen should play in regard tomyschemes. If you had asked me what part I am to play in her life and work, the picture might be inverted to some extent—for our lives will be mutual—though, of course, I can never be to her what she will be to me.”

With this exalted idea of the married state, Prince Bladud looked forward to his wedding. Whether Dromas was imbued with similar ideas we cannot tell; but of this we are sure, that he was equally devoted to the princess—as far as outward appearance went—and he entered with keenest zest and appreciation into the plans and aspirations of his friend, with regard to the welfare of mankind in general, and the men of Albion in particular.

Not many days after that there was a double wedding at Hudibras town, which created a tremendous sensation throughout all the land. For, although news travelled slowly in those days, the fame of Bladud and his wonderful cure, and his great size and athletic powers, coupled with his Eastern learning, and warlike attainments and peaceful proclivities, not to mention the beauty and romantic adventures of his bride, had made such an impression on what may be styled the whole nation, that noted chiefs came from all parts far and near, to his wedding, bringing as many of their distinguished followers with them as they deemed necessary to safe travelling in an unsettled country. Some even came from the great western island called Erin, and others from the remote isle of the north which lay beyond Gadarn’s country, and was at a later period named Ultima Thule.

“I wonder when they’re going to stop coming,” remarked Gadarn to King Hudibras, as the self-invited guests came pouring in.

“Let them come,” replied the jovial king, with the air of a man of unlimited means. “The more the merrier. There’s room for all, and the forests are big.”

“Some of them, I see,” rejoined Gadarn, “are my mortal foes. We shall now have a chance of becoming mortal friends.”

It might be supposed that the assemblage of such a host from all points of the compass would, as it is sometimes expressed, eat King Hudibras out of house and home; but this was not so, for it was the custom at that time for visitors at royal courts to hunt for their victuals—to go in, as it were, for a grand picnic on a continuous basis, so that the palace of our king, instead of being depleted, became surfeited with food. As his preserves were extensive, and game of all kinds abundant, the expense attendant on this kind of hospitality wasnil.

It would have been very much the reverse had it been necessary to supply drink, but the art of producing liquids which fuddle, stupefy, and madden, had not yet been learnt in this country. Consequently there was no fighting or bloodshed at those jovial festivities, though there was a certain amount of quarrelling—as might be expected amongst independent men who held different opinions on many subjects, although politics and theology had not yet been invented.

Great were the rejoicings when it was discovered, by each band as it arrived, that there was to be a double wedding; that the Princess Hafrydda was to be one of the brides, and that the fortunate man who had won her was a famous warrior of the mysterious East, and one of the victors at the great games of that part of the world.

How the ceremony of marriage was performed we have not, after the most painstaking research, been able to ascertain; but that it was performed somehow, and to the satisfaction of all concerned, we are absolutely certain, from the fact that Bladud and Branwen, Dromas and Hafrydda, lived happily together as man and wife for many years afterwards, and brought up large families of stalwart sons and daughters to strengthen the power and increase the prestige of Old Albion.

This, however, by the way. Of course the chief amusement of the guests was games, followed by songs and dancing in the evenings. And one of the favourite amusements at the games was scientific boxing, for that was an entirely new art to the warriors, alike of Albion, Erin, and Ultima Thule.

It first burst upon their senses as a new and grand idea when Bladud and Dromas, at the urgent request of their friends, stepped into the arena and gave a specimen of the manner in which the art was practised in Hellas. Of course they did not use what we call knuckle-dusters, nor did they even double their fists, except when moving round each other, and as “gloves” were unknown, they struck out with the hands half open, for they had no wish to bleed each other’s noses or black each other’s eyes for mere amusement.

At the beginning it was thought that Dromas was no match at all for the gigantic Bladud, but when the wonderful agility of the former was seen—the ease with which he ducked and turned aside his head to evade blows, and the lightning speed with which he countered, giving a touch on the forehead or a dig in the ribs, smiling all the time as if to say, “How d’ye like it?” men’s minds changed with shouts of surprise and satisfaction. And they highly approved of the way in which the champions smilingly shook hands after the bout was over—as they had done before it began.

They did not, however, perceive the full value of the art until an ambitious young chief from Ultima Thule—a man of immense size and rugged mould with red hair—insisted on Dromas giving him a lesson. The man from Hellas declined at first, but the man from Thule was urgent, and there seemed to be a feeling among the warriors that the young Hellene was afraid.

“It is so difficult,” he explained, “to hit lightly and swiftly that sometimes an unintentionally hard blow is given, and men are apt to lose their tempers.”

This was received with a loud laugh by the Thuler.

“What!Ilose my temper on account of a friendly buffet! Besides, I shall take care not to hit hard—you need not fear.”

“As you will,” returned Dromas, with a good-humoured smile.

The Thuler stood up and allowed his instructor to put him in the correct attitude. Then the latter faced him and said, “Now, guard yourself.”

Next moment his left hand shot out and gently touched his opponent’s nose. The Thuler received the touch with what he deemed an orthodox smile and tried to guard it after it had been delivered.

Then he struck out with his left—being an apt pupil—but Dromas drew back and the blow did not reach him. Then he struck out smartly with his right, but the Hellene put his head to one side and let it pass. Again he struck out rapidly, one hand after the other, without much care whether the blows were light or heavy. Dromas evaded both without guarding, and, in reply, gave the Thuler a smartish touch on his unfortunate nose.

This was received by the assemblage with a wild shout of surprise and delight, and the Thuler became grave; collected himself as if for real business, and suddenly let out a shower of blows which, had they taken effect, would soon have ended the match, but his blows only fell on air, for Dromas evaded them with ease, returning every now and then a tap on the old spot or a touch on the forehead. At last, seeing that the man was losing temper, he gave him a sharp dig in the wind which caused him to gasp, and a sounding buffet on the cheek which caused him to howl with rage and feel for the hilt of his sword. That dangerous weapon, however, had been judiciously removed by his friends. He therefore rushed at his antagonist, resolved to annihilate him, but was received with two genuine blows—one in the wind, the other on the forehead, which stretched him on the sward.

The Thuler rose therefrom with a dazed look, and accepted the Hellene’s friendly shake of the hand with an unmeaning smile.

After the sports had continued for several days King Hudibras proposed an excursion—a sort of gigantic picnic—to the Hot Swamp, where Bladud and his friend had made up their mind to spend their honeymoon.

Arrived there, they found that immense progress had been made with the new city—insomuch that Dromas assured Hafrydda that it brought to his mind some very ancient fables of great cities rising spontaneously from the ground to the sound of pipes played by the gods.

The baths, too, were in such an advanced stage that they were able to fill them on the arrival of the host and allow the interested and impatient chiefs to bathe.

“Don’t let them go in till you give the signal that the baths are ready,” said Gadarn to the king in that grave, suppressed manner which indicated that the northern chief was inclined to mischief.

“Why?” asked the king.

“Because, as I understand, you love fair play and no favour. It would not be fair to let some begin before others. They might feel it, you know, and quarrel.”

“Very well, so be it,” returned the king, and gave orders that no one was to go near the baths until they were quite full, when he would give the signal.

The chiefs and warriors entering into the spirit of the thing, took quite a boyish delight in stripping themselves and preparing for a rush.

“Now, are you ready?” said the king.

“Ay, all ready.”

“Away, then!”

The warlike host rushed to the brink of the largest bath and plunged in—some head, others feet, first. But they came out almost as fast as they went in—yelling and spluttering—for the water was much too hot!

“Ah! I see now,” growled the king, turning to Gadarn—but Gadarn was gone. He found him, a minute later, behind a bush, in fits!

Pacifying the warriors with some difficulty—for they were a hot-headed generation—the king, being directed by Bladud, ordered the water from the cold lake to be turned on until the bath became bearable. Then the warriors re-entered it again more sedately. The warm water soon restored their equanimity, and ere long the unusual sight was to be seen of bearded men and smooth chins, rugged men and striplings, rolling about like porpoises, shouting, laughing, and indulging in horse-play like veritable boys.

Truly warmth has much to do with the felicity of mankind!

Towards afternoon the warriors were ordered to turn out, and, after the water had been allowed to run till it was clear, King Hudibras descended into it with much gravity and a good deal of what was in those ages considered to be ceremonial effect. This was done by way of taking formal possession of the Hot Springs. He was greatly cheered during the process by the admiring visitors, as well as physically by the hot water, and it is said that while his son Bladud was dutifully rubbing him down in the neighbouring booth, he remarked that it was the best bath he ever had in his life, that he would visit the place periodically as long as he lived, and that a palace must be built there for his accommodation.

From that day the bath was named the “King’s Bath,” and it is so named at the present day.

Soon after that the queen visited the Swamp and, with her ladies, made use of the bath which had been specially prepared for women; and this one went by the name of the “Queen’s Bath” thereafter. Its site, however, is not now certainly known, and it is not to be confounded with the “Queen’s Bath” of the present day, which was named after Queen Anne.

Prince Bladud lived to carry out most of his plans. He built a palace for his father in Swamptown. He built a palace for himself and Branwen, with a wing to it for Dromas and Hafrydda, and took up his permanent abode there when he afterwards became king. At the death of his father he added another wing for the queen-mother—with internal doors opening from each wing to the other, in order that they might live, so to speak, as one family. This arrangement worked admirably until the families became large, and the younger members obstreperous, when the internal doors were occasionally, even frequently, shut. He also built a snug house for Konar, and made him Hunter-General to the Royal Household. It is said that, owing to the genial influence of Bladud’s kind nature, Konar recovered his reason, and, forgetting the false fair-one who had jilted him, took to himself a helpmate who more than made up for her loss.

Captain Arkal soon found that his passion for hot water cooled. As it did so, his love for salt water revived. He returned to Hellas, and, after paying his respects to his pretty Greek wife, and dandling the solid, square, bluff, and resolute baby, he reloaded his ship and returned to Albion. Thus he went and came for many years.

Little Maikar, however, did not follow his example. True, he accompanied his old captain on his first trip to Hellas, but that was for the purpose of getting possession of a dark-eyed maiden who awaited him there; with whom he returned to Swamptown, and, in that lovely region, spent the remainder of his life.

Even Addedomar was weaned from outlawry to honesty by the irresistible solicitations of Bladud, and as, in modern times, many an incorrigible poacher makes a first-rate gamekeeper, so the robber-chief became an able head-huntsman under the Hunter-General. The irony of Fate decreed, however, that the man who had once contemplated three wives was not to marry at all. He dwelt with his mother Ortrud to the end of her days in a small house not far from the residence of Konar. Gunrig’s mother also dwelt with them—not that she had any particular regard for them personally, but in order that she might be near to the beautiful girl who had been beloved by her son.

Gadarn, the great northern chief, ever afterwards paid an annual visit to Swamptown. While that visit lasted there was a general feeling in the palace—especially among the young people—that a jovial hurricane was blowing. During the daytime the gale made itself felt in loud hilarious laughter, song, and story. At night it blew steadily through his nose. After his departure an unaccountable calm seemed to settle down upon the whole region!

Beniah performed with powerful effect the task allotted to him, for, both by precept and example, he so set forth and obeyed the laws of God that the tone of society was imperceptibly elevated. Men came to know, and to act upon the knowledge, that this world was not their rest; that there is a better life beyond, and, in the contemplation of that life, they, somehow, made this life more agreeable to themselves and to each other.

Time, which never intermits the beating of his fateful wings, flew by; the centuries rolled on; the Roman invaders came; the Norsemen and Saxons came, the Norman conquerors came, and each left their mark, deep and lasting, on the people and on the land—but they could not check by one hair’s-breadth the perennial flow of the springs in the Hot Swamp, or obliterate the legend on which is founded this Romance of Old Albion.

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