Chapter Twenty Two.

Chapter Twenty Two.The Pigs’ Cure.It was not long before our hero recovered from his delirium. Leading, as he had been doing, an abstemious and healthy life, ordinary disease could not long maintain its grasp of him. His superabundant life seemed to cast it off with the ease with which his physical frame was able to cast aside human foes. But he could not thus shake off the leprosy.One of the first things he did on recovering consciousness was to uncover his arm. The fatal spot had increased considerably in size. With something of a shudder he looked round his little hut, endeavouring to remember where he was and to recall recent events. He was alone at the time, and he fancied the fight with the robbers and rescue of the boy must have been all a dream. The name Cormac, however, puzzled him not a little. Many a time before that had he dreamed of vivid scenes and thrilling incidents, but never in his recollection had he dreamt a name!Being thoughtfully disposed, he lay meditating listlessly on this point in that tranquil frame of mind which often accompanies convalescence, and had almost fallen asleep when a slight noise outside awoke him. The curtain-door was lifted, and Cormac, entering, sat quietly down on a block of wood beside him.Bladud became suddenly aware that he had not been dreaming, but he did not move. Through his slightly opened eyelids he watched the lad while he mixed some berries in a cup of water. As he lay thus silently observant, he was deeply impressed with the handsome countenance of his nurse and the graceful movements of his slight figure.Presently the thought of his disease recurred to him—it was seldom, indeed, absent from his mind—and the strict injunctions which he had given to his young companion.“Boy!—boy!” he cried suddenly, with a vigour that caused the boy to start off his seat and almost capsize the cup, “did I not forbid you to enter my hut or to touch me?”At first Cormac looked alarmed, but, seeing that a decided change for the better had taken place in his patient, his brow smoothed and he laughed softly.“How dared you to disobey me?” exclaimed Bladud again in stern tones.“I dared because I saw you were unable to prevent me,” returned the lad, with a quiet smile. “Besides, you were too ill to feed yourself, so, of course, I had to do it for you. Do you suppose I am so ungrateful to the man who saved my life as to stand aside and let him die for want of a helping hand? Come, now, be reasonable and let me give you this drink.” He approached as he spoke.“Keep off!—keep off, I say,” shouted the prince in a voice so resolute that Cormac was fain to obey. “It is bad enough to come into my hut, but youmust nottouch me!”“Why not?—I have touched you already.”“How! when?”“I have lifted your head many a time to enable you to drink when you could not lift it yourself.”A groan escaped Bladud.“Then it is too late! Look at this,” he cried, suddenly uncovering his arm.“What is that?” asked the boy, with a look of curiosity.“It is—leprosy!”“I am not afraid of leprosy!”“Not afraid of it!” exclaimed the prince, “that may well be, for you have the air of one who fears nothing; but it will kill you for all that, unless the Maker of all defends you, for it is a dread—a terrible—disease that no strength can resist or youth throw off. It undermines the health and eats the flesh off the bones, renders those whom it attacks horrible to look at, and in the end it kills them. But it is possible that you may not yet have caught the infection, poor lad, so you must keep away from me now, and let not a finger touch me henceforth. Your life, I say, may depend on it.”“I will obey you as to that,” replied Cormac, “now that you are beginning to recover, but I must still continue to put food and water within your reach.”“Be it so,” rejoined the prince, turning away with a slight groan, for his excitement not less than the conversation had exhausted him. In a few minutes more he was asleep with an expression of profound anxiety stereotyped on his countenance.It was not long after the fever left him that returning strength enabled Bladud to crawl out of his hut, and soon after that he was able to ramble through the woods in company with Cormac, and with Brownie—that faithful friend who had lain by his master’s side during all his illness. The sparkling river gladdened the eyes, and the bracing air and sunshine strengthened the frame of the prince, so that with the cheerful conversation of Cormac and the gambols of his canine friend he was sometimes led to forget for a time the dark cloud that hung over him.One day he was struck by something in the appearance of his dog, and, sitting down on a bank, he called it to him. After a few minutes’ careful examination he turned to Cormac with a look of deep anxiety.“My boy,” he said, “I verily believe that the hound is smitten with my own complaint. In his faithful kindness he has kept by me until I have infected him.”“That cannot be,” returned Cormac, “for, during my rambles alone, when you were too ill to move, I saw that a great many of the pigs were affected by a skin disease something like that on the dog, and, you know, you could not have infected the pigs, for you have never touched them.”Bladud’s anxiety was not removed but deepened when he heard this, for he called to remembrance the occasion when he had rescued one of the little pigs and carried it for some distance in his arms.“And, do you know,” continued the lad, “I have observed a strange thing. I have seen that many of the pigs, affected with this complaint, have gone down to the place where the hot waters rise, and, after bathing there, have returned all covered with mud, and these pigs seem to have got better of the disease, while many of those which did not go down to the swamp have died.”“That is strange indeed,” returned the prince; “I must see to this, for if these waters cure the pigs, why not the dog?”“Ay,” rejoined Cormac, “and why not the man?”“Because my disease is well known to be incurable.”“Are you sure?”“We can hardly be sure of anything, not even of killing our mid-day meal,” rejoined the prince. “See, there goes a bird that is big enough to do for both of us. Try your hand.”“That will be but losing an opportunity, for, as you know, I am not a good marksman,” returned the youth, fitting an arrow quickly to his bow nevertheless, and discharging it. Although the bird in question was large and not far off, the arrow missed the mark, but startled the bird so that it took wing. Before it had risen a yard from the ground, however, an arrow from Bladud’s bow transfixed it.That night, after the bird had been eaten, when Brownie was busy with the scraps, and Cormac had retired to his couch in the firewood booth, Bladud lay in his hut unable to sleep because of what he had heard and seen that day. “Hope springs eternal in the human breast”—not less in the olden time than now. At all events it welled up in the breast of the royal outcast with unusual power as he waited anxiously for the first dawn of day.Up to this time, although living within a few miles of it, the prince had not paid more than one or two visits to the Hot Swamp, because birds and other game did not seem to inhabit the place, and the ground was difficult to traverse. He had, of course, speculated a good deal as to the cause of the springs, but had not come to any conclusions more satisfactory than have been arrived at by the scientific minds of modern days. That heat of some sort was the cause applied in one fashion or another to the water so as to make it almost boil he had no manner of doubt, but what caused the heat he could not imagine, and it certainly did not occur to him that the interior of the earth was a lake of fire—the lovely world of vision being a mere crust. At least, if it did, he was never heard to say so.But now he went down to the swamp with a renewed feeling of hope that gave fresh impulse to his heart and elasticity to his tread.Arrived at the place, he observed that numbers of his porcine family were there before him. On seeing him they retreated with indignant grunts—their hasty retreat being accelerated by a few remarks from Brownie.Making his way to what he believed to be the main fountain of the spring, the prince and the dog stood contemplating it for some time. Then the former dipped his hand in, but instantly withdrew it, for he found the water to be unbearably hot. Following its course, however, and testing it as he went along, he soon came to a spot where the temperature was sufficiently cool to render it agreeable. Here, finding a convenient hole big enough to hold him, he stripped and bathed. Brownie, who seemed much interested and enlivened by his master’s proceedings, joined him on invitation, and appeared to enjoy himself greatly. Thereafter they returned home to breakfast and found Cormac already up and roasting venison ribs before the fire.“I thought you were still sound asleep in your hut,” he said in surprise, as they came up, “and I have been doing my best to make little noise, for fear of awaking you. Have you been bathing at the springs? I see the hound’s coat is muddy.”“Thanks for your care, Cormac. Ay, we have indeed had a bath—Brownie and I. You see I have taken your advice, and am trying the pigs’ cure.”“Right, Bladud. Wiser men have learned lessons from pigs.”“Are you not presumptuous, my lad, to suggest that there may be a wiser man than I?”“Truly, no, for taking the advice of a mere stripling like me, is not a sign of wisdom in a man.”“In the present case you are perhaps right, but there are some striplings whose wisdom is sufficient to guide men. However, I will hope that even you, with all your presumption, may be right this time.”“That encourages me to offer additional advice,” retorted the lad with a laugh, “namely, that you should devote your attention to these ribs, for you will find them excellent, and even a full-grown man can hardly fail to know that without food no cure can be effected.”“You are right, my boy. Sit down and set me an example, for youth, not less than age, must be supported.”Without more words they set to work, first throwing a bone to the hound, in order, as Bladud remarked, that they might all start on equal terms.From that day the health of the prince began to mend—slowly but steadily the spot on his arm also began to diminish and to assume a more healthy aspect. Brownie also became convalescent, and much to the joy of Bladud, Cormac showed no symptoms of having caught the disease. Still, as a precaution, they kept studiously apart, and the prince observed—and twitted the boy with the fact—that the more he gained in health, and the less danger there was of infection, the more anxious did he seem to be to keep away from him!Things were in this state when, one evening, they received a visit—which claims a new chapter to itself.

It was not long before our hero recovered from his delirium. Leading, as he had been doing, an abstemious and healthy life, ordinary disease could not long maintain its grasp of him. His superabundant life seemed to cast it off with the ease with which his physical frame was able to cast aside human foes. But he could not thus shake off the leprosy.

One of the first things he did on recovering consciousness was to uncover his arm. The fatal spot had increased considerably in size. With something of a shudder he looked round his little hut, endeavouring to remember where he was and to recall recent events. He was alone at the time, and he fancied the fight with the robbers and rescue of the boy must have been all a dream. The name Cormac, however, puzzled him not a little. Many a time before that had he dreamed of vivid scenes and thrilling incidents, but never in his recollection had he dreamt a name!

Being thoughtfully disposed, he lay meditating listlessly on this point in that tranquil frame of mind which often accompanies convalescence, and had almost fallen asleep when a slight noise outside awoke him. The curtain-door was lifted, and Cormac, entering, sat quietly down on a block of wood beside him.

Bladud became suddenly aware that he had not been dreaming, but he did not move. Through his slightly opened eyelids he watched the lad while he mixed some berries in a cup of water. As he lay thus silently observant, he was deeply impressed with the handsome countenance of his nurse and the graceful movements of his slight figure.

Presently the thought of his disease recurred to him—it was seldom, indeed, absent from his mind—and the strict injunctions which he had given to his young companion.

“Boy!—boy!” he cried suddenly, with a vigour that caused the boy to start off his seat and almost capsize the cup, “did I not forbid you to enter my hut or to touch me?”

At first Cormac looked alarmed, but, seeing that a decided change for the better had taken place in his patient, his brow smoothed and he laughed softly.

“How dared you to disobey me?” exclaimed Bladud again in stern tones.

“I dared because I saw you were unable to prevent me,” returned the lad, with a quiet smile. “Besides, you were too ill to feed yourself, so, of course, I had to do it for you. Do you suppose I am so ungrateful to the man who saved my life as to stand aside and let him die for want of a helping hand? Come, now, be reasonable and let me give you this drink.” He approached as he spoke.

“Keep off!—keep off, I say,” shouted the prince in a voice so resolute that Cormac was fain to obey. “It is bad enough to come into my hut, but youmust nottouch me!”

“Why not?—I have touched you already.”

“How! when?”

“I have lifted your head many a time to enable you to drink when you could not lift it yourself.”

A groan escaped Bladud.

“Then it is too late! Look at this,” he cried, suddenly uncovering his arm.

“What is that?” asked the boy, with a look of curiosity.

“It is—leprosy!”

“I am not afraid of leprosy!”

“Not afraid of it!” exclaimed the prince, “that may well be, for you have the air of one who fears nothing; but it will kill you for all that, unless the Maker of all defends you, for it is a dread—a terrible—disease that no strength can resist or youth throw off. It undermines the health and eats the flesh off the bones, renders those whom it attacks horrible to look at, and in the end it kills them. But it is possible that you may not yet have caught the infection, poor lad, so you must keep away from me now, and let not a finger touch me henceforth. Your life, I say, may depend on it.”

“I will obey you as to that,” replied Cormac, “now that you are beginning to recover, but I must still continue to put food and water within your reach.”

“Be it so,” rejoined the prince, turning away with a slight groan, for his excitement not less than the conversation had exhausted him. In a few minutes more he was asleep with an expression of profound anxiety stereotyped on his countenance.

It was not long after the fever left him that returning strength enabled Bladud to crawl out of his hut, and soon after that he was able to ramble through the woods in company with Cormac, and with Brownie—that faithful friend who had lain by his master’s side during all his illness. The sparkling river gladdened the eyes, and the bracing air and sunshine strengthened the frame of the prince, so that with the cheerful conversation of Cormac and the gambols of his canine friend he was sometimes led to forget for a time the dark cloud that hung over him.

One day he was struck by something in the appearance of his dog, and, sitting down on a bank, he called it to him. After a few minutes’ careful examination he turned to Cormac with a look of deep anxiety.

“My boy,” he said, “I verily believe that the hound is smitten with my own complaint. In his faithful kindness he has kept by me until I have infected him.”

“That cannot be,” returned Cormac, “for, during my rambles alone, when you were too ill to move, I saw that a great many of the pigs were affected by a skin disease something like that on the dog, and, you know, you could not have infected the pigs, for you have never touched them.”

Bladud’s anxiety was not removed but deepened when he heard this, for he called to remembrance the occasion when he had rescued one of the little pigs and carried it for some distance in his arms.

“And, do you know,” continued the lad, “I have observed a strange thing. I have seen that many of the pigs, affected with this complaint, have gone down to the place where the hot waters rise, and, after bathing there, have returned all covered with mud, and these pigs seem to have got better of the disease, while many of those which did not go down to the swamp have died.”

“That is strange indeed,” returned the prince; “I must see to this, for if these waters cure the pigs, why not the dog?”

“Ay,” rejoined Cormac, “and why not the man?”

“Because my disease is well known to be incurable.”

“Are you sure?”

“We can hardly be sure of anything, not even of killing our mid-day meal,” rejoined the prince. “See, there goes a bird that is big enough to do for both of us. Try your hand.”

“That will be but losing an opportunity, for, as you know, I am not a good marksman,” returned the youth, fitting an arrow quickly to his bow nevertheless, and discharging it. Although the bird in question was large and not far off, the arrow missed the mark, but startled the bird so that it took wing. Before it had risen a yard from the ground, however, an arrow from Bladud’s bow transfixed it.

That night, after the bird had been eaten, when Brownie was busy with the scraps, and Cormac had retired to his couch in the firewood booth, Bladud lay in his hut unable to sleep because of what he had heard and seen that day. “Hope springs eternal in the human breast”—not less in the olden time than now. At all events it welled up in the breast of the royal outcast with unusual power as he waited anxiously for the first dawn of day.

Up to this time, although living within a few miles of it, the prince had not paid more than one or two visits to the Hot Swamp, because birds and other game did not seem to inhabit the place, and the ground was difficult to traverse. He had, of course, speculated a good deal as to the cause of the springs, but had not come to any conclusions more satisfactory than have been arrived at by the scientific minds of modern days. That heat of some sort was the cause applied in one fashion or another to the water so as to make it almost boil he had no manner of doubt, but what caused the heat he could not imagine, and it certainly did not occur to him that the interior of the earth was a lake of fire—the lovely world of vision being a mere crust. At least, if it did, he was never heard to say so.

But now he went down to the swamp with a renewed feeling of hope that gave fresh impulse to his heart and elasticity to his tread.

Arrived at the place, he observed that numbers of his porcine family were there before him. On seeing him they retreated with indignant grunts—their hasty retreat being accelerated by a few remarks from Brownie.

Making his way to what he believed to be the main fountain of the spring, the prince and the dog stood contemplating it for some time. Then the former dipped his hand in, but instantly withdrew it, for he found the water to be unbearably hot. Following its course, however, and testing it as he went along, he soon came to a spot where the temperature was sufficiently cool to render it agreeable. Here, finding a convenient hole big enough to hold him, he stripped and bathed. Brownie, who seemed much interested and enlivened by his master’s proceedings, joined him on invitation, and appeared to enjoy himself greatly. Thereafter they returned home to breakfast and found Cormac already up and roasting venison ribs before the fire.

“I thought you were still sound asleep in your hut,” he said in surprise, as they came up, “and I have been doing my best to make little noise, for fear of awaking you. Have you been bathing at the springs? I see the hound’s coat is muddy.”

“Thanks for your care, Cormac. Ay, we have indeed had a bath—Brownie and I. You see I have taken your advice, and am trying the pigs’ cure.”

“Right, Bladud. Wiser men have learned lessons from pigs.”

“Are you not presumptuous, my lad, to suggest that there may be a wiser man than I?”

“Truly, no, for taking the advice of a mere stripling like me, is not a sign of wisdom in a man.”

“In the present case you are perhaps right, but there are some striplings whose wisdom is sufficient to guide men. However, I will hope that even you, with all your presumption, may be right this time.”

“That encourages me to offer additional advice,” retorted the lad with a laugh, “namely, that you should devote your attention to these ribs, for you will find them excellent, and even a full-grown man can hardly fail to know that without food no cure can be effected.”

“You are right, my boy. Sit down and set me an example, for youth, not less than age, must be supported.”

Without more words they set to work, first throwing a bone to the hound, in order, as Bladud remarked, that they might all start on equal terms.

From that day the health of the prince began to mend—slowly but steadily the spot on his arm also began to diminish and to assume a more healthy aspect. Brownie also became convalescent, and much to the joy of Bladud, Cormac showed no symptoms of having caught the disease. Still, as a precaution, they kept studiously apart, and the prince observed—and twitted the boy with the fact—that the more he gained in health, and the less danger there was of infection, the more anxious did he seem to be to keep away from him!

Things were in this state when, one evening, they received a visit—which claims a new chapter to itself.

Chapter Twenty Three.In which very Perplexing Events Occur.The visitor referred to in the last chapter was a tall, broad-shouldered old man with a snowy head of hair and a flowing white beard, a long, loose black garment, and a stout staff about six feet long.Cormac had gone to a spring for water at the time he arrived, and Bladud was lying on his back inside his hut.“Is any one within?” demanded the stranger, lifting a corner of the curtain.“Enter not here, whoever you are!” replied the prince quickly, springing up—“stay—I will come out to you.”“You are wonderfully inhospitable,” returned the stranger, as the prince issued from the hut and stood up with an inquiring look which suddenly changed to one of astonishment.“Beniah!” he exclaimed.“Even so,” replied the Hebrew, holding out his hand, but Bladud drew back.“What! will you neither permit me to enter your house nor shake your hand? I was not so churlish when you visited my dwelling.”“You know well, old man, that I do not grudge hospitality, but fear to infect you.”“Yes, I know it well,” rejoined the Hebrew, smiling, “and knowing that you were here, I turned aside on my journey to inquire as to your welfare.”“I have much to say about my welfare and strange things to tell you, but first let me know what has brought you to this part of the land—for if you have turned aside to see me—seeing me has not been your main object.”“You are right. Yet it pleases me well to use this opportunity, and to see by your looks and bearing, that the disease seems to have been arrested.”“Yes, thanks be to the All-seeing One, I am well, or nearly so. But proceed to explain the reason of your journey.”“The cause of it is the unaccountable disappearance of the girl named Branwen.”“What! she who is the bosom friend of my sister Hafrydda?”“The same. She had fled, you may remember, from your father’s court for fear of being compelled to wed with Gunrig, the chief whose crown you cracked so deftly on the day of your arrival. She, poor thing, took refuge at first with me. I hid her for some time—”“Then,” interrupted the prince, “she must have been hidden in your hut at the time of my visit!”“She was. But that was no business of yours.”“Surely it was, old man, for my father’s business is my business.”“Yea, but it was not my business to enlighten you, or the king either, while I had reason to know that he meant unduly to coerce the maiden. However, there she was hidden, as I tell you. Now, you are aware that Branwen’s father Gadarn is a great chief, whose people live far away in the northern part of Albion. I bade Branwen remain close in my hut, in a secret chamber, while I should go and acquaint her father with her position, and fetch him down with a strong band of his retainers to rescue her. You should have seen the visage of Gadarn, when I told him the news. A wild boar of the woods could scarce have shown his tusks more fiercely. He not only ordered an armed band to get ready, instantly, but he roused the whole country around, and started off that same day with all his followers armed to the teeth. Of course I led them. In due course we arrived at my hut, when—lo! I found that the bird was flown!”“I could see by the appearance of things,” continued the Hebrew, “that the foolish girl had left of her own will, for there was no evidence of violence anywhere—which would doubtless have been the case if robbers had found her and carried her away, for they would certainly have carried off some of my goods along with her. The rage of her father on making this discovery was terrible. He threatened at once to cut off my old head, and even drew his sword with intent to act the part of executioner. But I reminded him that if he did so, he would cut off the only head that knew anything about his daughter, and that I had still some knowledge regarding her with which he was not acquainted.“This arrested his hand just in time, for I actually fancied that I had begun to feel the edge of his sword slicing into my spinal marrow. When he had calmed himself enough to listen, I told him that Branwen had spoken about paying a visit to the Hot Springs—that I knew she was bent on going there, for some reason that I could not understand, and that I thought it more than likely she had gone. ‘Axe-men, to the front! Form long line! hooroo!’ yelled the chief—(or something of that sort, for I’m a man of peace, and don’t understand warlike orders), and away went the whole host at a run, winding through the forest like a great snake; Gadarn and I leading them, except when the thickets became impenetrable, and then the axe-men were ordered to the front and soon broke them down. And so, in course of time, we came within a few miles of the Hot Swamp, and—and, as I have said, I have been permitted to turn aside to visit you.”“Truly a strange tale,” remarked the prince. “And is the armed host of Gadarn actually within a few miles of us?”“It is; and, to say truth, I have come out to search for you chiefly to inquire whether you have seen any young woman at all resembling Branwen during your wanderings in this region?”The Hebrew looked keenly at the prince as he put this question.“You forget I have never seen this girl, and, therefore, could not know her even if I had met her. But, in truth, I have not seen any woman, young or old, since I came here. Nor have I seen any human being save my mad master, Konar, and a poor youth whom I rescued some time ago from the hands of robbers. He has nursed me through a severe illness, and is even now with me. But what makes you think that Branwen intended to come to the Swamp?”“Because—because, she had reasons of her own. I do not profess to understand the workings of a young girl’s mind,” answered the Hebrew.“And what will you do,” said Bladud, “now that you find she has not been here? Methinks that when Gadarn hears of your failure to find her at the Swamp, your spinal marrow and his sword will still stand a good chance of becoming acquainted.”The Hebrew looked perplexed, but, before he could answer, Brownie came bounding gaily round the corner of the hut. Seeing a stranger, he stopped suddenly, displayed his teeth and growled.“Down, pup! He is not accustomed to visitors, you see,” said his master apologetically.At that moment Cormac turned the corner of the hut, bearing an earthen jar of water on his shoulder. His eyes opened wide with surprise, so did those of the Hebrew, and the jar dropped to the ground, where it broke, and Brownie, quick to see and seize his opportunity, began to lap its contents. The prince—also wide-eyed—gazed from one to the other. It was a grandtableau vivant!The first to recover himself and break the spell was Cormac. Leaping forward, he grasped the old man by the hand, and turning so as to present his back to Bladud, gave the Hebrew a look so powerfully significant that that son of Israel was quite disconcerted.“My old, kind friend—is it—can it—be really yourself? So far from home—so unexpected! It makes me so glad to see you,” said the youth. Then, turning to Bladud, “A very old friend of mine, who helped me once in a time of great distress. I am so rejoiced, for now he will guide me back to my own home. You know I have sometimes talked of leaving you lately, Bladud.”“You say truth, my young friend. Frequently of late, since I have been getting well, you have hinted at a wish to go home, though you have not yet made it clear to me where that home is; and sad will be the day when you quit me. I verily believe that I should have died outright, Beniah, but for the kind care of this amiable lad. But it is selfish of me to wish you to stay—especially now that you have found a friend who, it would seem, is both able and willing to guard you through the woods in safety. Yet, now I think, my complaint is so nearly cured that I might venture to do that myself.”“Not so,” returned the lad, quickly. “You are far from cured yet. To give up using the waters at this stage of the cure would be fatal. It would perhaps let the disease come back as bad as before.”“Nay, but the difficulty lies here,” returned the prince, smiling at the boy’s eagerness. “This good old man is at present engaged as guide to an army, and dare not leave his post. A foolish girl named Branwen fled some time ago from my father’s house, intending, it is supposed, to go to some friends living not far from the Hot Swamp. They have been searching for her in all directions, and at last her father, with a host at his heels, has been led to within a few miles of this place, but the girl has not yet been discovered; so the search will doubtless be continued.”“Is that so?” asked Cormac of the Hebrew, pointedly.“It is so.”“What is the name of the chief whose daughter has beenso foolishas to run away from her friends?”“Gadarn,” answered Beniah.“Oh! I know him!” exclaimed Cormac in some excitement, “and I know many of his people. I lived with them once, long, long ago. How far off is the camp, did you say?”“An hour’s walk or so.”“Inthatdirection?” asked Cormac, pointing.“Yes, in that direction.”“Then I will go and see them,” said the lad, picking up his bow and arrows. “You can wait here till I come back, Beniah, and keep Bladud company—for he is accustomed to company now! Who knows but I may pick up thisfoolishgirl on my way to the camp!”The lad hurried into the woods without waiting a reply; but he had not gone a hundred yards when he turned and shouted, “Hi, Beniah!” at the same time beckoning with his hand.The Hebrew hurried towards him.“Beniah,” said the lad impressively, as he drew near, “go back and examine Bladud’s arm and let me know when we meet again what you think of it.”“But how—why—wherefore came you—?” exclaimed the Hebrew, pausing in perplexity.“Ask no questions, old man,” returned the youth with a laugh. “There is no time to explain—. He will suspect—robbers—old mother—bad son—escape—boy’s dress—fill up that story if you can! More hereafter. But—observe, if you say one word aboutme to anybody, Gadarn’s sword is sharp and his arm strong! You promise?”“I promise.”“Solemnly—on your word as a Hebrew?”“Solemnly—on my word as a Hebrew. But—?”With another laugh the boy interrupted him, turned, and disappeared in the woods.“A strange, though a good and affectionate boy,” remarked Bladud when the Hebrew returned. “What said he?”“He bade me examine your arm, and tell him what I think of it on his return.”“That is of a piece with all the dear boy’s conduct,” returned the prince. “You have no idea what a kind nurse he has been to me, at a time when I was helpless with fever. Indeed, if I had not been helpless and delirious, I would not have allowed him to come near me. You have known him before, it seems?”“Yes; I have known him for some time.”From this point the prince pushed the Hebrew with questions, which the latter—bearing in remembrance the sharpness of Gadarn’s sword, and the solemnity of his promise—did his best to evade, and eventually succeeded in turning the conversation by questioning Bladud as to his intercourse with the hunter of the Swamp, and his mode of life since his arrival in that region. Then he proceeded to examine the arm critically.“It is a wonderful cure,” he said, after a minute inspection. “Almost miraculous.”“Cure!” exclaimed the prince. “Do you, then, think me cured?”“Indeed I do—at least, very nearly so. I have had some experience of your complaint in the East, and it seems to me that a perfect cure is at most certain—if it has not been already effected.”

The visitor referred to in the last chapter was a tall, broad-shouldered old man with a snowy head of hair and a flowing white beard, a long, loose black garment, and a stout staff about six feet long.

Cormac had gone to a spring for water at the time he arrived, and Bladud was lying on his back inside his hut.

“Is any one within?” demanded the stranger, lifting a corner of the curtain.

“Enter not here, whoever you are!” replied the prince quickly, springing up—“stay—I will come out to you.”

“You are wonderfully inhospitable,” returned the stranger, as the prince issued from the hut and stood up with an inquiring look which suddenly changed to one of astonishment.

“Beniah!” he exclaimed.

“Even so,” replied the Hebrew, holding out his hand, but Bladud drew back.

“What! will you neither permit me to enter your house nor shake your hand? I was not so churlish when you visited my dwelling.”

“You know well, old man, that I do not grudge hospitality, but fear to infect you.”

“Yes, I know it well,” rejoined the Hebrew, smiling, “and knowing that you were here, I turned aside on my journey to inquire as to your welfare.”

“I have much to say about my welfare and strange things to tell you, but first let me know what has brought you to this part of the land—for if you have turned aside to see me—seeing me has not been your main object.”

“You are right. Yet it pleases me well to use this opportunity, and to see by your looks and bearing, that the disease seems to have been arrested.”

“Yes, thanks be to the All-seeing One, I am well, or nearly so. But proceed to explain the reason of your journey.”

“The cause of it is the unaccountable disappearance of the girl named Branwen.”

“What! she who is the bosom friend of my sister Hafrydda?”

“The same. She had fled, you may remember, from your father’s court for fear of being compelled to wed with Gunrig, the chief whose crown you cracked so deftly on the day of your arrival. She, poor thing, took refuge at first with me. I hid her for some time—”

“Then,” interrupted the prince, “she must have been hidden in your hut at the time of my visit!”

“She was. But that was no business of yours.”

“Surely it was, old man, for my father’s business is my business.”

“Yea, but it was not my business to enlighten you, or the king either, while I had reason to know that he meant unduly to coerce the maiden. However, there she was hidden, as I tell you. Now, you are aware that Branwen’s father Gadarn is a great chief, whose people live far away in the northern part of Albion. I bade Branwen remain close in my hut, in a secret chamber, while I should go and acquaint her father with her position, and fetch him down with a strong band of his retainers to rescue her. You should have seen the visage of Gadarn, when I told him the news. A wild boar of the woods could scarce have shown his tusks more fiercely. He not only ordered an armed band to get ready, instantly, but he roused the whole country around, and started off that same day with all his followers armed to the teeth. Of course I led them. In due course we arrived at my hut, when—lo! I found that the bird was flown!”

“I could see by the appearance of things,” continued the Hebrew, “that the foolish girl had left of her own will, for there was no evidence of violence anywhere—which would doubtless have been the case if robbers had found her and carried her away, for they would certainly have carried off some of my goods along with her. The rage of her father on making this discovery was terrible. He threatened at once to cut off my old head, and even drew his sword with intent to act the part of executioner. But I reminded him that if he did so, he would cut off the only head that knew anything about his daughter, and that I had still some knowledge regarding her with which he was not acquainted.

“This arrested his hand just in time, for I actually fancied that I had begun to feel the edge of his sword slicing into my spinal marrow. When he had calmed himself enough to listen, I told him that Branwen had spoken about paying a visit to the Hot Springs—that I knew she was bent on going there, for some reason that I could not understand, and that I thought it more than likely she had gone. ‘Axe-men, to the front! Form long line! hooroo!’ yelled the chief—(or something of that sort, for I’m a man of peace, and don’t understand warlike orders), and away went the whole host at a run, winding through the forest like a great snake; Gadarn and I leading them, except when the thickets became impenetrable, and then the axe-men were ordered to the front and soon broke them down. And so, in course of time, we came within a few miles of the Hot Swamp, and—and, as I have said, I have been permitted to turn aside to visit you.”

“Truly a strange tale,” remarked the prince. “And is the armed host of Gadarn actually within a few miles of us?”

“It is; and, to say truth, I have come out to search for you chiefly to inquire whether you have seen any young woman at all resembling Branwen during your wanderings in this region?”

The Hebrew looked keenly at the prince as he put this question.

“You forget I have never seen this girl, and, therefore, could not know her even if I had met her. But, in truth, I have not seen any woman, young or old, since I came here. Nor have I seen any human being save my mad master, Konar, and a poor youth whom I rescued some time ago from the hands of robbers. He has nursed me through a severe illness, and is even now with me. But what makes you think that Branwen intended to come to the Swamp?”

“Because—because, she had reasons of her own. I do not profess to understand the workings of a young girl’s mind,” answered the Hebrew.

“And what will you do,” said Bladud, “now that you find she has not been here? Methinks that when Gadarn hears of your failure to find her at the Swamp, your spinal marrow and his sword will still stand a good chance of becoming acquainted.”

The Hebrew looked perplexed, but, before he could answer, Brownie came bounding gaily round the corner of the hut. Seeing a stranger, he stopped suddenly, displayed his teeth and growled.

“Down, pup! He is not accustomed to visitors, you see,” said his master apologetically.

At that moment Cormac turned the corner of the hut, bearing an earthen jar of water on his shoulder. His eyes opened wide with surprise, so did those of the Hebrew, and the jar dropped to the ground, where it broke, and Brownie, quick to see and seize his opportunity, began to lap its contents. The prince—also wide-eyed—gazed from one to the other. It was a grandtableau vivant!

The first to recover himself and break the spell was Cormac. Leaping forward, he grasped the old man by the hand, and turning so as to present his back to Bladud, gave the Hebrew a look so powerfully significant that that son of Israel was quite disconcerted.

“My old, kind friend—is it—can it—be really yourself? So far from home—so unexpected! It makes me so glad to see you,” said the youth. Then, turning to Bladud, “A very old friend of mine, who helped me once in a time of great distress. I am so rejoiced, for now he will guide me back to my own home. You know I have sometimes talked of leaving you lately, Bladud.”

“You say truth, my young friend. Frequently of late, since I have been getting well, you have hinted at a wish to go home, though you have not yet made it clear to me where that home is; and sad will be the day when you quit me. I verily believe that I should have died outright, Beniah, but for the kind care of this amiable lad. But it is selfish of me to wish you to stay—especially now that you have found a friend who, it would seem, is both able and willing to guard you through the woods in safety. Yet, now I think, my complaint is so nearly cured that I might venture to do that myself.”

“Not so,” returned the lad, quickly. “You are far from cured yet. To give up using the waters at this stage of the cure would be fatal. It would perhaps let the disease come back as bad as before.”

“Nay, but the difficulty lies here,” returned the prince, smiling at the boy’s eagerness. “This good old man is at present engaged as guide to an army, and dare not leave his post. A foolish girl named Branwen fled some time ago from my father’s house, intending, it is supposed, to go to some friends living not far from the Hot Swamp. They have been searching for her in all directions, and at last her father, with a host at his heels, has been led to within a few miles of this place, but the girl has not yet been discovered; so the search will doubtless be continued.”

“Is that so?” asked Cormac of the Hebrew, pointedly.

“It is so.”

“What is the name of the chief whose daughter has beenso foolishas to run away from her friends?”

“Gadarn,” answered Beniah.

“Oh! I know him!” exclaimed Cormac in some excitement, “and I know many of his people. I lived with them once, long, long ago. How far off is the camp, did you say?”

“An hour’s walk or so.”

“Inthatdirection?” asked Cormac, pointing.

“Yes, in that direction.”

“Then I will go and see them,” said the lad, picking up his bow and arrows. “You can wait here till I come back, Beniah, and keep Bladud company—for he is accustomed to company now! Who knows but I may pick up thisfoolishgirl on my way to the camp!”

The lad hurried into the woods without waiting a reply; but he had not gone a hundred yards when he turned and shouted, “Hi, Beniah!” at the same time beckoning with his hand.

The Hebrew hurried towards him.

“Beniah,” said the lad impressively, as he drew near, “go back and examine Bladud’s arm and let me know when we meet again what you think of it.”

“But how—why—wherefore came you—?” exclaimed the Hebrew, pausing in perplexity.

“Ask no questions, old man,” returned the youth with a laugh. “There is no time to explain—. He will suspect—robbers—old mother—bad son—escape—boy’s dress—fill up that story if you can! More hereafter. But—observe, if you say one word aboutme to anybody, Gadarn’s sword is sharp and his arm strong! You promise?”

“I promise.”

“Solemnly—on your word as a Hebrew?”

“Solemnly—on my word as a Hebrew. But—?”

With another laugh the boy interrupted him, turned, and disappeared in the woods.

“A strange, though a good and affectionate boy,” remarked Bladud when the Hebrew returned. “What said he?”

“He bade me examine your arm, and tell him what I think of it on his return.”

“That is of a piece with all the dear boy’s conduct,” returned the prince. “You have no idea what a kind nurse he has been to me, at a time when I was helpless with fever. Indeed, if I had not been helpless and delirious, I would not have allowed him to come near me. You have known him before, it seems?”

“Yes; I have known him for some time.”

From this point the prince pushed the Hebrew with questions, which the latter—bearing in remembrance the sharpness of Gadarn’s sword, and the solemnity of his promise—did his best to evade, and eventually succeeded in turning the conversation by questioning Bladud as to his intercourse with the hunter of the Swamp, and his mode of life since his arrival in that region. Then he proceeded to examine the arm critically.

“It is a wonderful cure,” he said, after a minute inspection. “Almost miraculous.”

“Cure!” exclaimed the prince. “Do you, then, think me cured?”

“Indeed I do—at least, very nearly so. I have had some experience of your complaint in the East, and it seems to me that a perfect cure is at most certain—if it has not been already effected.”

Chapter Twenty Four.Describes an Ardent Search.While the prince and the Hebrew were thus conversing, Cormac was speeding towards the camp of Gadarn. He quickly arrived, and was immediately arrested by one of the sentinels. Taken before one of the chief officers, he was asked who he was, and where he came from.“That I will tell only to your chief,” said the lad.“Iam a chief,” replied the officer proudly.“That may be so; but I want to speak withyourchief, and I must see him alone.”“Assuredly thou art a saucy knave, and might be improved by a switching.”“Possibly; but instead of wasting our time in useless talk, it would be well to convey my message to Gadarn, for my news is urgent; and I would not give much for your head if you delay.”The officer laughed; but there was that in the boy’s tone and manner that induced him to obey.Gadarn, the chief, was seated on a tree-stump inside of a booth of boughs, leaves, and birch-bark, that had been hastily constructed for his accommodation. He was a great, rugged, north-country man, of immense physical power—as most chiefs were in those days. He seemed to be brooding over his sorrows at the time his officer entered.“A prisoner waits without,” said the officer. “He is a stripling; and says he has urgent business to communicate to you alone.”“Send him hither, and let every one get out of ear-shot!” said Gadarn gruffly.A minute later Cormac appeared, and looked wistfully at the chief, who looked up with a frown.“Are you the pris—”He stopped suddenly, and, springing to his feet, advanced a step with glaring eyes and fast-coming breath, as he held out both hands.With a cry of joy, Cormac sprang forward and threw his arms round Gadarn’s neck, exclaiming—“Father!—dearfather!”For a few moments there was silence, and a sight was seen which had not been witnessed for many a day—two or three gigantic tears rolled down the warrior’s rugged cheeks, one of them trickling to the end of his weather-beaten nose and dropping on his iron-grey beard.“My child,” he said at length, “where—how came you—why, this—”“Yes, yes, father,” interrupted the lad, with a tearful laugh. “I’ll tell you all about it in good time; but I’ve got other things to speak of which are more interesting to both of us. Sit down and let me sit on your knee, as I used to do long ago.”Gadarn meekly obeyed.“Now listen,” said Cormac, putting his mouth to his father’s ear and whispering.The chief listened, and the first effect of the whispering was to produce a frown. This gradually and slowly faded, and gave place to an expression of doubt.“Are you sure, child?—sure that you—”“Quite—quite sure,” interrupted Cormac with emphasis. “But that is not all—listen!”Gadarn listened again; and, as the whispering continued, there came the wrinkles of humour over his rugged face; then a snort that caused Cormac to laugh ere he resumed his whispering.“And he knows it?” cried Gadarn, interrupting and suppressing a laugh.“Yes; knows all about it.”“And the other doesn’t?”“Has not the remotest idea!”“Thinks that you’re a—”Here the chief broke off, got up, placed his hands on both his sides and roared with laughter, until the anxious sentinels outside believed that he had gone mad.With the energy of a strong nature he checked himself and became suddenly grave.“Listen!” he said; “you have made me listen a good deal to you. It is my turn now. Before the sun stands there (pointing), you will be on your way to the court of King Hudibras, while I remain, and make this Hebrew lead me all over the country in search of—ha! ha!—my daughter. We must search and search every hole and corner of the land; for we must—we must find her—or perish!”Again the chief exploded, but subdued himself immediately; and, going to the entrance of the booth, summoned his lieutenant, who started forward with the promptitude of an apparition, and with an expression of some curiosity on his countenance, for he also had heard the laughter.“Get ready forty men,” said the chief; “to convey this lad in safety to the court of King Hudibras. He is well known there. Say not that I sent you, but that, in ranging the country, you found him lost in the woods, and, understanding him to belong to the household of the king, you brought him in.”Without a word the lieutenant withdrew, and the plotters looked at each other with that peculiarly significant expression which has been the characteristic of intriguers in all ages.“Thou wilt know how to act, my little one,” said the chief.“Yes, better even than you imagine, my big one,” replied Cormac.“What! is there something beyond my ken simmering in thy noddle, thou pert squirrel?”“Perchance there is, father dear.”A sound at the root of Gadarn’s nose betrayed suppressed laughter, as he turned away.Quarter of an hour later a band of foot-soldiers defiled out of the camp, with Cormac in their midst, mounted on a small pony, and Gadarn, calling another of his lieutenants, told him to let it be known throughout the camp, that if any officer or man should allow his tongue to wag with reference to the lad who had just left the camp, his tongue would be silenced for all future time, and an oak limb be decorated with an acorn that never grew on it.“You know, and they know, that I’m a man of my word—away!” said the chief, returning to the privacy of his booth.While these events were happening at the camp, Bladud and Beniah were discussing many subjects—religion among others, for they were both philosophical as well as seriously-minded. But neither their philosophy nor their religion were profound enough at that time to remove anxiety about the youth who had just left them.“I wish that I were clear of the whole business,” remarked the Hebrew uneasily, almost petulantly.“Why, do you fear that any evil can happen to the boy?” asked Bladud anxiously.“Oh! I fear not for him. It is not that. He will be among friends at the camp—but—but I know not how Gadarn may take it.”“Take what?” demanded the prince in surprise.“Take—take my failure to find his daughter.”“Ha! to be sure; he may be ill-pleased at that. But if I thought there was any chance of evil befalling Cormac in the camp, by all the gods of the east, west, north, and south,” cried the prince, carried away by the strength of his feelings into improper and even boastful language, “I would go and demand his liberation, or fight the whole tribe single-handed.”“A pretty boast for a man in present safety,” remarked the Hebrew, with a remonstrative shake of the head.“Most true,” returned the prince, flushing; “I spoke in haste, yet it was not altogether a boast, for I could challenge Gadarn to single combat, and no right-minded chief could well refuse to let the issue of the matter rest on that.”“Verily he would not refuse, for although not so tall as you are, he is quite as stout, and it is a saying among his people that he fears not the face of any man—something like his daughter in that.”“Is she so bold, then?”“Nay, not bold, but—courageous.”“Humph! that is a distinction, no doubt, but the soft and gentle qualities in women commend themselves more to me than those which ought chiefly to characterise man. However, be this as it may, if Cormac does not return soon after daybreak to-morrow, I will hie me to the camp to see how it fares with him.”As next morning brought no Cormac, or any news of him, Bladud started for the camp, accompanied by the anxious Hebrew.They found the chief at a late breakfast. He looked up without rising when they were announced.“Ha! my worthy Hebrew—is it thou? What news of my child? Have you heard of her whereabouts?”“Not yet, sir,” answered Beniah with a look of intense perplexity. “But I had thought that—that is, by this time—”“What! no news?” cried the chief, springing up in fierce ire, and dropping the chop with which he had been engaged. “Did you not say that you felt sure you would hear of her from your friend? Is this the friend that you spoke of?”He turned a keen look of inquiry, with not a little admiration in it, on Bladud.“This is indeed he,” answered Beniah, “and I have—but, but did not a lad—a fair youth—visit your camp yesterday?”“No—no lad came near the camp yesterday,” answered the chief gruffly.Here was cause for wonder, both for the Hebrew and the prince.“Forgive me, sir,” said the latter, with a deferential air that greatly pleased the warrior, “forgive me if I venture to intrude my own troubles on one whose anxiety must needs be greater, but this youth left my hut yesterday to visit you, saying that he knew you well, and if he has not arrived some evil must have befallen him, for the distance he had to traverse was very short.”“That is sad,” returned the chief in a tone of sympathy, “for he must either have been caught by robbers, or come by an accident on the way. Did you not follow his footsteps as you came along?”“We never thought of following them—the distance being so short,” returned the prince with increasing anxiety.“Are you, then, so fond of this lad?” asked the chief.“Ay, that am I, and with good reason, for he has tended me with self-denying care during illness, and in circumstances which few men would have faced. In truth, I feel indebted to him for my life.”“Say you so?” cried the chief with sudden energy; “then shall we search forhimas well as for my daughter. And you, Hebrew, shall help us. Doubtless, young man, you will aid us by your knowledge of the district. I have secured the services of the hunter of the Swamp, so we can divide into three bands, and scour the whole country round. We cannot fail to find them, for neither of them can have got far away, whether they be lost or stolen. Ho! there. Assemble the force, instantly. Divide it into three bands. My lieutenant shall head one. You, Bladud, shall lead another, and I myself will head the third, guided by Beniah. Away!”With a wave of both hands Gadarn dismissed those around him, and retired to his booth to arm himself, and prepare for the pending search.The Hebrew was sorely tempted just then to speak out, but his solemn promise to Branwen sealed his lips. The fact also that the girl seemed really to have disappeared, filled him with alarm as well as surprise, and made him anxious to participate in the search. In a perplexed state of mind, and unenviable temper, he went away with Bladud to the place where the force was being marshalled.“Strange that fate should send us on a double search of this kind,” remarked the prince as they hurried along.“Whether fate sent us, or some mischievous sprite, I know not,” growled the Hebrew, “but there is no need for more than one search.”“How!” exclaimed Bladud sternly. “Think you that my poor lad’s fate is not of as much interest to me as that of Gadarn’s daughter is to him?”“Nay, verily, I presume not to gauge the interest of princes and chiefs,” returned Beniah, with an exasperated air. “All I know is, that if we find the lad, we are full sure to find the lass not far off.”“How? You speak in riddles to-day.”“Ay, and there are like to be more riddles tomorrow, for what the upshot of it will be is more than I can tell. See you not that, as the two were lost about the same time, and near the same place, they will probably be found together?”“Your wits seem to be shaken to-day, old man,” rejoined Bladud, smiling, “for these two were not lost about the same place or time.”Fortunately for the Hebrew’s peace of mind, an officer accosted them at that moment, and, directing the one to head a band just ready to march, led the other to the force which was to be commanded by the chief in person.In a few minutes the three bands were in motion, the main bodies marching north, south, and east, while strong parties were sent out from each to skirmish in all directions.“Think you we shall find them, Hebrew?” asked the chief, who seemed to be in a curiously impulsive state of mind.“I trust we may. It seems to me almost certain.”“I hope so, for your sake as well as my own, old man; for, if we do not, I will surely cut your head off for bringing me here for nothing.”“Does it not seem unjust to punish a man for doing his best?” asked Beniah.“It may seem so to you men of the east, but to the men of the west justice is not held of much account.”Proceeding round by the Hot Springs, the party led by Gadarn made a careful inspection of every cavern, defile, glade, and thicket, returning at evening towards the camp from which they set out, it having been arranged that they were all to meet there and start again to renew the search, in a wider circle, on the following morning.“No success,” remarked Gadarn sternly, unbuckling his sword and flinging it violently on the ground.“Not yet, but we may have better fortune tomorrow,” said Beniah.“Don’t you think the small footprints we saw near the Springs were those of the boy?”“They may have been.”“And those that we saw further on, but lost sight of in the rocky ground—did they not look like those of a girl?”“They certainly did.”“And yet strangely like to each other,” said the chief.“Marvellously,” returned Beniah.A slight sound in Gadarn’s nose caused the Hebrew to look up quickly, but the chief was gazing with stern gravity out at the opening of his booth, where the men of his force could be seen busily at work felling trees, kindling fires, and otherwise preparing for the evening meal.

While the prince and the Hebrew were thus conversing, Cormac was speeding towards the camp of Gadarn. He quickly arrived, and was immediately arrested by one of the sentinels. Taken before one of the chief officers, he was asked who he was, and where he came from.

“That I will tell only to your chief,” said the lad.

“Iam a chief,” replied the officer proudly.

“That may be so; but I want to speak withyourchief, and I must see him alone.”

“Assuredly thou art a saucy knave, and might be improved by a switching.”

“Possibly; but instead of wasting our time in useless talk, it would be well to convey my message to Gadarn, for my news is urgent; and I would not give much for your head if you delay.”

The officer laughed; but there was that in the boy’s tone and manner that induced him to obey.

Gadarn, the chief, was seated on a tree-stump inside of a booth of boughs, leaves, and birch-bark, that had been hastily constructed for his accommodation. He was a great, rugged, north-country man, of immense physical power—as most chiefs were in those days. He seemed to be brooding over his sorrows at the time his officer entered.

“A prisoner waits without,” said the officer. “He is a stripling; and says he has urgent business to communicate to you alone.”

“Send him hither, and let every one get out of ear-shot!” said Gadarn gruffly.

A minute later Cormac appeared, and looked wistfully at the chief, who looked up with a frown.

“Are you the pris—”

He stopped suddenly, and, springing to his feet, advanced a step with glaring eyes and fast-coming breath, as he held out both hands.

With a cry of joy, Cormac sprang forward and threw his arms round Gadarn’s neck, exclaiming—

“Father!—dearfather!”

For a few moments there was silence, and a sight was seen which had not been witnessed for many a day—two or three gigantic tears rolled down the warrior’s rugged cheeks, one of them trickling to the end of his weather-beaten nose and dropping on his iron-grey beard.

“My child,” he said at length, “where—how came you—why, this—”

“Yes, yes, father,” interrupted the lad, with a tearful laugh. “I’ll tell you all about it in good time; but I’ve got other things to speak of which are more interesting to both of us. Sit down and let me sit on your knee, as I used to do long ago.”

Gadarn meekly obeyed.

“Now listen,” said Cormac, putting his mouth to his father’s ear and whispering.

The chief listened, and the first effect of the whispering was to produce a frown. This gradually and slowly faded, and gave place to an expression of doubt.

“Are you sure, child?—sure that you—”

“Quite—quite sure,” interrupted Cormac with emphasis. “But that is not all—listen!”

Gadarn listened again; and, as the whispering continued, there came the wrinkles of humour over his rugged face; then a snort that caused Cormac to laugh ere he resumed his whispering.

“And he knows it?” cried Gadarn, interrupting and suppressing a laugh.

“Yes; knows all about it.”

“And the other doesn’t?”

“Has not the remotest idea!”

“Thinks that you’re a—”

Here the chief broke off, got up, placed his hands on both his sides and roared with laughter, until the anxious sentinels outside believed that he had gone mad.

With the energy of a strong nature he checked himself and became suddenly grave.

“Listen!” he said; “you have made me listen a good deal to you. It is my turn now. Before the sun stands there (pointing), you will be on your way to the court of King Hudibras, while I remain, and make this Hebrew lead me all over the country in search of—ha! ha!—my daughter. We must search and search every hole and corner of the land; for we must—we must find her—or perish!”

Again the chief exploded, but subdued himself immediately; and, going to the entrance of the booth, summoned his lieutenant, who started forward with the promptitude of an apparition, and with an expression of some curiosity on his countenance, for he also had heard the laughter.

“Get ready forty men,” said the chief; “to convey this lad in safety to the court of King Hudibras. He is well known there. Say not that I sent you, but that, in ranging the country, you found him lost in the woods, and, understanding him to belong to the household of the king, you brought him in.”

Without a word the lieutenant withdrew, and the plotters looked at each other with that peculiarly significant expression which has been the characteristic of intriguers in all ages.

“Thou wilt know how to act, my little one,” said the chief.

“Yes, better even than you imagine, my big one,” replied Cormac.

“What! is there something beyond my ken simmering in thy noddle, thou pert squirrel?”

“Perchance there is, father dear.”

A sound at the root of Gadarn’s nose betrayed suppressed laughter, as he turned away.

Quarter of an hour later a band of foot-soldiers defiled out of the camp, with Cormac in their midst, mounted on a small pony, and Gadarn, calling another of his lieutenants, told him to let it be known throughout the camp, that if any officer or man should allow his tongue to wag with reference to the lad who had just left the camp, his tongue would be silenced for all future time, and an oak limb be decorated with an acorn that never grew on it.

“You know, and they know, that I’m a man of my word—away!” said the chief, returning to the privacy of his booth.

While these events were happening at the camp, Bladud and Beniah were discussing many subjects—religion among others, for they were both philosophical as well as seriously-minded. But neither their philosophy nor their religion were profound enough at that time to remove anxiety about the youth who had just left them.

“I wish that I were clear of the whole business,” remarked the Hebrew uneasily, almost petulantly.

“Why, do you fear that any evil can happen to the boy?” asked Bladud anxiously.

“Oh! I fear not for him. It is not that. He will be among friends at the camp—but—but I know not how Gadarn may take it.”

“Take what?” demanded the prince in surprise.

“Take—take my failure to find his daughter.”

“Ha! to be sure; he may be ill-pleased at that. But if I thought there was any chance of evil befalling Cormac in the camp, by all the gods of the east, west, north, and south,” cried the prince, carried away by the strength of his feelings into improper and even boastful language, “I would go and demand his liberation, or fight the whole tribe single-handed.”

“A pretty boast for a man in present safety,” remarked the Hebrew, with a remonstrative shake of the head.

“Most true,” returned the prince, flushing; “I spoke in haste, yet it was not altogether a boast, for I could challenge Gadarn to single combat, and no right-minded chief could well refuse to let the issue of the matter rest on that.”

“Verily he would not refuse, for although not so tall as you are, he is quite as stout, and it is a saying among his people that he fears not the face of any man—something like his daughter in that.”

“Is she so bold, then?”

“Nay, not bold, but—courageous.”

“Humph! that is a distinction, no doubt, but the soft and gentle qualities in women commend themselves more to me than those which ought chiefly to characterise man. However, be this as it may, if Cormac does not return soon after daybreak to-morrow, I will hie me to the camp to see how it fares with him.”

As next morning brought no Cormac, or any news of him, Bladud started for the camp, accompanied by the anxious Hebrew.

They found the chief at a late breakfast. He looked up without rising when they were announced.

“Ha! my worthy Hebrew—is it thou? What news of my child? Have you heard of her whereabouts?”

“Not yet, sir,” answered Beniah with a look of intense perplexity. “But I had thought that—that is, by this time—”

“What! no news?” cried the chief, springing up in fierce ire, and dropping the chop with which he had been engaged. “Did you not say that you felt sure you would hear of her from your friend? Is this the friend that you spoke of?”

He turned a keen look of inquiry, with not a little admiration in it, on Bladud.

“This is indeed he,” answered Beniah, “and I have—but, but did not a lad—a fair youth—visit your camp yesterday?”

“No—no lad came near the camp yesterday,” answered the chief gruffly.

Here was cause for wonder, both for the Hebrew and the prince.

“Forgive me, sir,” said the latter, with a deferential air that greatly pleased the warrior, “forgive me if I venture to intrude my own troubles on one whose anxiety must needs be greater, but this youth left my hut yesterday to visit you, saying that he knew you well, and if he has not arrived some evil must have befallen him, for the distance he had to traverse was very short.”

“That is sad,” returned the chief in a tone of sympathy, “for he must either have been caught by robbers, or come by an accident on the way. Did you not follow his footsteps as you came along?”

“We never thought of following them—the distance being so short,” returned the prince with increasing anxiety.

“Are you, then, so fond of this lad?” asked the chief.

“Ay, that am I, and with good reason, for he has tended me with self-denying care during illness, and in circumstances which few men would have faced. In truth, I feel indebted to him for my life.”

“Say you so?” cried the chief with sudden energy; “then shall we search forhimas well as for my daughter. And you, Hebrew, shall help us. Doubtless, young man, you will aid us by your knowledge of the district. I have secured the services of the hunter of the Swamp, so we can divide into three bands, and scour the whole country round. We cannot fail to find them, for neither of them can have got far away, whether they be lost or stolen. Ho! there. Assemble the force, instantly. Divide it into three bands. My lieutenant shall head one. You, Bladud, shall lead another, and I myself will head the third, guided by Beniah. Away!”

With a wave of both hands Gadarn dismissed those around him, and retired to his booth to arm himself, and prepare for the pending search.

The Hebrew was sorely tempted just then to speak out, but his solemn promise to Branwen sealed his lips. The fact also that the girl seemed really to have disappeared, filled him with alarm as well as surprise, and made him anxious to participate in the search. In a perplexed state of mind, and unenviable temper, he went away with Bladud to the place where the force was being marshalled.

“Strange that fate should send us on a double search of this kind,” remarked the prince as they hurried along.

“Whether fate sent us, or some mischievous sprite, I know not,” growled the Hebrew, “but there is no need for more than one search.”

“How!” exclaimed Bladud sternly. “Think you that my poor lad’s fate is not of as much interest to me as that of Gadarn’s daughter is to him?”

“Nay, verily, I presume not to gauge the interest of princes and chiefs,” returned Beniah, with an exasperated air. “All I know is, that if we find the lad, we are full sure to find the lass not far off.”

“How? You speak in riddles to-day.”

“Ay, and there are like to be more riddles tomorrow, for what the upshot of it will be is more than I can tell. See you not that, as the two were lost about the same time, and near the same place, they will probably be found together?”

“Your wits seem to be shaken to-day, old man,” rejoined Bladud, smiling, “for these two were not lost about the same place or time.”

Fortunately for the Hebrew’s peace of mind, an officer accosted them at that moment, and, directing the one to head a band just ready to march, led the other to the force which was to be commanded by the chief in person.

In a few minutes the three bands were in motion, the main bodies marching north, south, and east, while strong parties were sent out from each to skirmish in all directions.

“Think you we shall find them, Hebrew?” asked the chief, who seemed to be in a curiously impulsive state of mind.

“I trust we may. It seems to me almost certain.”

“I hope so, for your sake as well as my own, old man; for, if we do not, I will surely cut your head off for bringing me here for nothing.”

“Does it not seem unjust to punish a man for doing his best?” asked Beniah.

“It may seem so to you men of the east, but to the men of the west justice is not held of much account.”

Proceeding round by the Hot Springs, the party led by Gadarn made a careful inspection of every cavern, defile, glade, and thicket, returning at evening towards the camp from which they set out, it having been arranged that they were all to meet there and start again to renew the search, in a wider circle, on the following morning.

“No success,” remarked Gadarn sternly, unbuckling his sword and flinging it violently on the ground.

“Not yet, but we may have better fortune tomorrow,” said Beniah.

“Don’t you think the small footprints we saw near the Springs were those of the boy?”

“They may have been.”

“And those that we saw further on, but lost sight of in the rocky ground—did they not look like those of a girl?”

“They certainly did.”

“And yet strangely like to each other,” said the chief.

“Marvellously,” returned Beniah.

A slight sound in Gadarn’s nose caused the Hebrew to look up quickly, but the chief was gazing with stern gravity out at the opening of his booth, where the men of his force could be seen busily at work felling trees, kindling fires, and otherwise preparing for the evening meal.

Chapter Twenty Five.More Secrets and Surprises.All went well with the party that conducted Branwen to King Hudibras’ town until they reached the hut of Beniah the Hebrew, when the lad suggested to the leader of the escort that they should put up there, as it was too late to think of intruding on the king that night.As the lieutenant had been told to pay particular regard to the wishes of his charge, he at once agreed. Indeed, during the journey, Cormac (as we may here continue to call the girl) had expressed his wishes with such a quiet, matter-of-course air of authority that the officer in charge had come to the conclusion that the youth must be the son of some person of importance—perhaps even of King Hudibras himself. He therefore accorded him implicit obedience and deference.“The hut is too small for all of us,” said Cormac; “the greater number of your men must sleep outside; but that does not matter on so fine a night.”“True, it matters nothing,” replied the officer. “We will all of us sup and sleep round the campfires.”“Nay, you and your lieutenant will sup with me. Afterwards you can join the men. By-the-by, there is an old woman here, who takes charge—or ought to take charge—of the Hebrew’s dwelling during his absence.”“I have not seen her,” said the officer.“True—but she will no doubt make her appearance soon. Let her come and go as she pleases without hindrance. It is not safe to thwart her, for her temper is none of the sweetest, and she is apt to scratch.”Supper was soon over, for the party had travelled all day, and were weary. When it was finished Cormac again cautioned the officers not to interfere with the old woman, for she was dangerous.“I will have a care,” said the officer, laughing, as he and his subaltern rose, bade their charge good-night, and took their leave.The instant they were gone Branwen pushed the plank-bridge across the chasm, and disappeared in the secret cave.Half an hour later the two officers were seated with some of the men at the camp-fire nearest the hut, making preparations for going to rest, when they were startled by the creaking of the hut door. To their intense surprise it opened wide enough to let a little old woman step out. She was much bent, wore an old grey shawl over her head, and leaned on a staff. For some moments she looked from side to side as if in search of something.“See! the old woman!” murmured the officer in a low whisper.“True, but we did not see her enter the hut,” replied the sub with a solemn look.In those days witchcraft was implicitly believed in, so, when they saw the old creature hobble towards them, they experienced feelings of alarm that had never yet affected their manly bosoms in danger or in war. Their faces paled a little, but their courage stood the test, for they sat still till she came close enough to let her piercing dark eyes be seen peering at them like those of a basilisk from out the folds of the shawl that enveloped her.“Y–you are the—the old woman, I suppose?” said the officer in a deferential tone.“Yes, I am the old woman, young man, and you will be an old woman too when you reach my time of life,” she replied, in a deep metallic voice.“I hope not,” returned the officer, sincerely.“At all events you’ll be a dead man before long if you don’t attend to what I say,” continued the woman. “Your young master in the hut there told me to tell you that he is tired and wants a good long rest, so you are not to disturb him in the morning till he calls you. D’you hear?”“I hear, and will obey.”“Eh? What? Speak out. I’m deaf.”“I hear, and will attend to your wishes.”“Humph! it will be worse for you if you don’t,” muttered the old hag, as she turned away, hobbled into the woods, and slowly disappeared.It need scarcely be said that the lieutenant and his sub did not sleep much that night. They discussed the subject of witches, their powers and propensities, and the bad luck likely to attend those who actually had the misfortune to see them, until the hair on their heads betrayed a tendency to rise, and the grey dawn began to appear. Then they lay down and indulged in some fitful slumber. But the discomforts of the night were as nothing to the anxieties of the morning, for the lazy Cormac seemed to have gone in for an extent of slumber that was out of all reason, considering his circumstances. The ordinary breakfast hour arrived, but there was no intimation of his having awoke. Hours passed, but there was no call from the hut, and the officer, with ever-increasing anxiety, bade his men to kick up a row—or words to that effect. No command they ever received was more easy of fulfilment. They laughed and talked; they cut down trees and cleaned their breakfast utensils with overwhelming demonstration; they shouted, they even sang and roared in chorus, but without effect. Noon arrived and passed, still Cormac slept on. It was worse than perplexing—it was becoming desperate!The officer commanding the party was a brave man; so was the sub. Their native courage overcame their superstitious fears.“I’ll be battle-axed!” exclaimed the first, using a very objectionable old British oath, “if I don’t rouse him, though all the witches in Albion should withstand me.”“And I’ll back you up,” said the sub with a frown that spoke volumes—perhaps, considering the times, we should have written—rolls of papyrus.Accordingly the two went towards the hut, with pluck and misgiving contending for the mastery.“Perchance the witch may have returned while we slept,” said the sub in a low voice.“Or she may have re-entered the hut invisibly—as she did at first,” replied the other.The door was found to be on the latch. The lieutenant opened it a little and peeped in.“Ho! Cormac!” he shouted; “hi! ho! hooroo hooh!” but he shouted in vain.Becoming accustomed to the dim light, he perceived that there was no one within to answer to the call, so he suddenly sprang in, followed by the sub and a few of the more daring spirits among the men.A hasty search revealed the fact that the lad was not to be seen. A more minute and thorough inspection showed clearly that no one was there. They did not, of course, discover the cave, for the plank had been removed, but they gazed solemnly into the depths of the dark chasm and wondered if poor Cormac had committed suicide there, or if the witch had murdered him and thrown him in. Having neither rope nor ladder, and the chasm appearing to be bottomless, they had no means of settling the question.But now a point of far greater moment pressed on their consideration. What was to be said to King Hudibras about the disappearance of the lad? Would he believe them? It was not likely. And, on the other hand, what would Gadarn say? Wouldhebelieve them? He might, indeed, for he knew them to be faithful, but that would not mitigate his wrath, and when he was roused by neglected duty they knew too well that their lives would hang on a thread. What was to be done? To go forward or backward seemed to involve death! One only resource was left, namely, for the whole band to go off on its own account and take to the woods as independent robbers—or hunters—or both combined.In an unenviable frame of mind the lieutenant and his sub sat down to the discussion of these knotty points and their mid-day meal.Meanwhile the witch, who had been the occasion of all this distress, having got out of sight in the woods, assumed a very upright gait and stepped out with a degree of bounding elasticity that would have done credit to a girl of nineteen.The sun was just rising in a flood of glorious light when she entered the suburbs of King Hudibras’ town—having previously resumed her stoop and hobbling gait.The king was lazy. He was still a-bed snoring. But the household was up and at breakfast, when the witch—passing the guards who looked upon her as too contemptible to question—knocked at the palace door. It was the back-door, for even at that time palaces had such convenient apertures, for purposes, no doubt, of undignified retreat. A menial answered the knock—after wearisome delay.“Is the Princess Hafrydda within?”“She is,” answered the menial, with a supercilious look, “but she is at breakfast, and does not see poor people at such an hour.”“Would she see rich people if they were to call at such an hour?” demanded the witch, sharply.“Per—perhaps she would,” replied the menial with some hesitation.“Then I’ll wait here till she has finished breakfast. Is the king up?”“N–no. He still slumbers.”“Hah! Like him! He was always lazy in the mornings. Go fetch me a stool.”The manner of the old woman with her magnificent dark eyes and deep metallic voice, and her evident knowledge of the king’s habits, were too much for the menial—a chord of superstition had been touched; it vibrated, and he was quelled. Humbly but quickly he fetched a stool.“Won’t you step in?” he said.“No, I’ll stop out!” she replied, and sat herself doggedly down, with the air of one who had resolved never more to go away.Meanwhile, in the breakfast room of the palace, which was on the ground floor—indeed, all the rooms of the palace were on the ground floor, for there was no upper one—the queen and her fair daughter Hafrydda were entertaining a stranger who had arrived the day before.He was an exceedingly handsome man of about six-and-twenty; moderately tall and strong, but with an air of graceful activity in all his movements that gave people, somehow, the belief that whatever he chose to attempt he could do. Both his olive complexion and his tongue betokened him a foreigner, for although the language he spoke was Albionic, it was what we now style broken—very much broken indeed. With a small head, short curly black hair, a very young beard, and small pointed moustache, fine intellectual features, and an expression of imperturbable good-humour, he presented an appearance which might have claimed the regard of any woman. At all events the queen had formed a very high opinion of him—and she was a woman of much experience, having seen many men in her day. Hafrydda, though, of course, not so experienced, fully equalled her mother, if she did not excel her, in her estimate of the young stranger.As we should be unintelligible if we gave the youth’s words in the broken dialect, we must render his speech in fair English.“I cannot tell how deeply I am grieved to hear this dreadful news of my dear friend,” he said, with a look of profound sorrow that went home to the mother’s heart.“And did you really come to this land for the sole purpose of seeing my dear boy?” asked the queen.“I did. You cannot imagine how much we loved each other. We were thrown together daily—almost hourly. We studied together; we competed when I was preparing for the Olympic games; we travelled in Egypt and hunted together. Indeed, if it had not been for my dear old mother, we should have travelled to this land in the same ship.”“Your mother did not wish you to leave her, I suppose?”“Nay, it was I who would not leaveher. Her unselfish nature would have induced her to make any sacrifice to please me. It was only when she died that my heart turned with unusual longing to my old companion Bladud, and I made up my mind to quit home and traverse the great sea in search of him.”A grateful look shot from Hafrydda’s blue eyes, but it was lost on the youth, who sat gazing at the floor as if engrossed with his great disappointment.“I cannot understand,” he continued, in an almost reproachful tone, “how you could ever make up your minds to banish him, no matter how deadly the disease that had smitten him.”The princess’s fair face flushed deeply, and she shook back her golden curls—her eyes flashing as she replied—“We did not ‘make up our minds to banish him.’ The warriors and people would have compelled us to do it whether we liked or not, for they have heard, alas! of the terrible nature of the disease. But the dear boy, knowing this, went off in the night unknown to us, and without even saying farewell. We have sent out parties to search for him several times, but without success.”The youth was evidently affected by this burst of feeling.“Ah,” he returned, with a look of admiration at the princess, “that was like him—like his noble, self-denying nature. But I will find him out, you may depend on it, for I shall search the land in all directions till I discover his retreat. If King Hudibras will grant me a few men to help me—well. If not, I will do it by myself.”“Thank you, good Dromas, for your purpose and your sympathy,” said the queen. “The king will be only too glad to help you—but here he comes to speak for himself.”The curtain door was tossed aside at the moment, and Hudibras strode into the room with a beaming smile and a rolling gait that told of redundant health, and showed that the cares of state sat lightly on him.“Welcome, good Dromas, to our board. I was too sleepy to see much of you after your arrival last night. Mine eyes blinked like those of an owl. Kiss me, wife and daughter,” he added, giving the ladies a salute that resounded through the room. “Have they told you yet about our poor son Bladud?”The visitor had not time to reply, when a domestic appeared and said there was an old woman at the door who would not go away.“Give her some cakes and send her off!” cried the king with a frown.“But she will not go till she has had converse with the princess.”“I will go to her,” said Hafrydda, rising.“Ay, go, my girl, and if thy sweet tongue fails to prevail, stuff her mouth with meat and drink till she is too stout to walk. Come, my queen, what have we this morning for breakfast? The very talking of meat makes me hungry.”At this juncture several dogs burst into the room and gambolled with their royal master, as with one who is a familiar friend.When the princess reached the outer door she found the woman standing, and evidently in a rage.“Is this the way King Hudibras teaches his varlets to behave to poor people who are better than themselves?”“Forgive them, granny,” said the princess, who was inclined to laugh, but strove to keep her gravity, “they are but stupid rogues at worst.”“Nay, but they are sly rogues at best!” retorted the old woman. “The first that came, took me for a witch, and was moderately civil, but the second took away my stool and threatened to set the dogs at me.”“If this be so, I will have him cow-hided; but tell me—what would you with me? Can I help you? Is it food that you want, or rest?”“Truly it is both food and rest that I want, at the proper times, but what I want with you now, is to take me to your own room, and let me talk to you.”“That is a curious desire,” returned Hafrydda, smiling, “but I will not deny you. Come this way. Have you anything secret to tell me?” she asked, when they were alone.“Ay, that have I,” answered the woman in her natural voice, throwing off her shawl and standing erect.The princess remained speechless, for her friend Branwen stood before her.“Before I utter a word of explanation,” she said, “let me say that your brother is found, and safe, and well—or nearly so. This is the main thing, but I will not tell you anything more unless you give me your solemn promise not to tell a word of it all to any one till I give you leave. Do you promise?”Hafrydda was so taken aback that she could do nothing for some time but gaze in the girl’s face. Then she laughed in an imbecile sort of way. Then she burst into tears of joy, threw her arms round her friend’s neck, hugged her tight, and promised anything—everything—that she chose to demand.When, an hour later, the Princess Hafrydda returned to the breakfast room, she informed the king and queen that the old woman was not a beggar; that she had kept her listening to a long story about lost men and women and robbers; that she was a thorough deceiver; that some of the servants believed her to be a witch, and that she had sent her away.“With an invitation to come back again, I’ll be bound,” cried the king, interrupting. “It’s always your way, my girl,—any one can impose on you.”“Well, father, shedidimpose on me, and Ididask her to come back again.”“I knew it,” returned the king, with a loud laugh, “and she’ll come, for certain.”“She will, you may be quite sure of that,” rejoined the princess with a gleeful laugh, as she left the room.About the same time, the little old woman left the palace and returned to the hut of the Hebrew.Here, as she expected, she found that her escort had flown, and, a brief inspection of their footprints showed that, instead of proceeding towards the town, they had returned the way they came.

All went well with the party that conducted Branwen to King Hudibras’ town until they reached the hut of Beniah the Hebrew, when the lad suggested to the leader of the escort that they should put up there, as it was too late to think of intruding on the king that night.

As the lieutenant had been told to pay particular regard to the wishes of his charge, he at once agreed. Indeed, during the journey, Cormac (as we may here continue to call the girl) had expressed his wishes with such a quiet, matter-of-course air of authority that the officer in charge had come to the conclusion that the youth must be the son of some person of importance—perhaps even of King Hudibras himself. He therefore accorded him implicit obedience and deference.

“The hut is too small for all of us,” said Cormac; “the greater number of your men must sleep outside; but that does not matter on so fine a night.”

“True, it matters nothing,” replied the officer. “We will all of us sup and sleep round the campfires.”

“Nay, you and your lieutenant will sup with me. Afterwards you can join the men. By-the-by, there is an old woman here, who takes charge—or ought to take charge—of the Hebrew’s dwelling during his absence.”

“I have not seen her,” said the officer.

“True—but she will no doubt make her appearance soon. Let her come and go as she pleases without hindrance. It is not safe to thwart her, for her temper is none of the sweetest, and she is apt to scratch.”

Supper was soon over, for the party had travelled all day, and were weary. When it was finished Cormac again cautioned the officers not to interfere with the old woman, for she was dangerous.

“I will have a care,” said the officer, laughing, as he and his subaltern rose, bade their charge good-night, and took their leave.

The instant they were gone Branwen pushed the plank-bridge across the chasm, and disappeared in the secret cave.

Half an hour later the two officers were seated with some of the men at the camp-fire nearest the hut, making preparations for going to rest, when they were startled by the creaking of the hut door. To their intense surprise it opened wide enough to let a little old woman step out. She was much bent, wore an old grey shawl over her head, and leaned on a staff. For some moments she looked from side to side as if in search of something.

“See! the old woman!” murmured the officer in a low whisper.

“True, but we did not see her enter the hut,” replied the sub with a solemn look.

In those days witchcraft was implicitly believed in, so, when they saw the old creature hobble towards them, they experienced feelings of alarm that had never yet affected their manly bosoms in danger or in war. Their faces paled a little, but their courage stood the test, for they sat still till she came close enough to let her piercing dark eyes be seen peering at them like those of a basilisk from out the folds of the shawl that enveloped her.

“Y–you are the—the old woman, I suppose?” said the officer in a deferential tone.

“Yes, I am the old woman, young man, and you will be an old woman too when you reach my time of life,” she replied, in a deep metallic voice.

“I hope not,” returned the officer, sincerely.

“At all events you’ll be a dead man before long if you don’t attend to what I say,” continued the woman. “Your young master in the hut there told me to tell you that he is tired and wants a good long rest, so you are not to disturb him in the morning till he calls you. D’you hear?”

“I hear, and will obey.”

“Eh? What? Speak out. I’m deaf.”

“I hear, and will attend to your wishes.”

“Humph! it will be worse for you if you don’t,” muttered the old hag, as she turned away, hobbled into the woods, and slowly disappeared.

It need scarcely be said that the lieutenant and his sub did not sleep much that night. They discussed the subject of witches, their powers and propensities, and the bad luck likely to attend those who actually had the misfortune to see them, until the hair on their heads betrayed a tendency to rise, and the grey dawn began to appear. Then they lay down and indulged in some fitful slumber. But the discomforts of the night were as nothing to the anxieties of the morning, for the lazy Cormac seemed to have gone in for an extent of slumber that was out of all reason, considering his circumstances. The ordinary breakfast hour arrived, but there was no intimation of his having awoke. Hours passed, but there was no call from the hut, and the officer, with ever-increasing anxiety, bade his men to kick up a row—or words to that effect. No command they ever received was more easy of fulfilment. They laughed and talked; they cut down trees and cleaned their breakfast utensils with overwhelming demonstration; they shouted, they even sang and roared in chorus, but without effect. Noon arrived and passed, still Cormac slept on. It was worse than perplexing—it was becoming desperate!

The officer commanding the party was a brave man; so was the sub. Their native courage overcame their superstitious fears.

“I’ll be battle-axed!” exclaimed the first, using a very objectionable old British oath, “if I don’t rouse him, though all the witches in Albion should withstand me.”

“And I’ll back you up,” said the sub with a frown that spoke volumes—perhaps, considering the times, we should have written—rolls of papyrus.

Accordingly the two went towards the hut, with pluck and misgiving contending for the mastery.

“Perchance the witch may have returned while we slept,” said the sub in a low voice.

“Or she may have re-entered the hut invisibly—as she did at first,” replied the other.

The door was found to be on the latch. The lieutenant opened it a little and peeped in.

“Ho! Cormac!” he shouted; “hi! ho! hooroo hooh!” but he shouted in vain.

Becoming accustomed to the dim light, he perceived that there was no one within to answer to the call, so he suddenly sprang in, followed by the sub and a few of the more daring spirits among the men.

A hasty search revealed the fact that the lad was not to be seen. A more minute and thorough inspection showed clearly that no one was there. They did not, of course, discover the cave, for the plank had been removed, but they gazed solemnly into the depths of the dark chasm and wondered if poor Cormac had committed suicide there, or if the witch had murdered him and thrown him in. Having neither rope nor ladder, and the chasm appearing to be bottomless, they had no means of settling the question.

But now a point of far greater moment pressed on their consideration. What was to be said to King Hudibras about the disappearance of the lad? Would he believe them? It was not likely. And, on the other hand, what would Gadarn say? Wouldhebelieve them? He might, indeed, for he knew them to be faithful, but that would not mitigate his wrath, and when he was roused by neglected duty they knew too well that their lives would hang on a thread. What was to be done? To go forward or backward seemed to involve death! One only resource was left, namely, for the whole band to go off on its own account and take to the woods as independent robbers—or hunters—or both combined.

In an unenviable frame of mind the lieutenant and his sub sat down to the discussion of these knotty points and their mid-day meal.

Meanwhile the witch, who had been the occasion of all this distress, having got out of sight in the woods, assumed a very upright gait and stepped out with a degree of bounding elasticity that would have done credit to a girl of nineteen.

The sun was just rising in a flood of glorious light when she entered the suburbs of King Hudibras’ town—having previously resumed her stoop and hobbling gait.

The king was lazy. He was still a-bed snoring. But the household was up and at breakfast, when the witch—passing the guards who looked upon her as too contemptible to question—knocked at the palace door. It was the back-door, for even at that time palaces had such convenient apertures, for purposes, no doubt, of undignified retreat. A menial answered the knock—after wearisome delay.

“Is the Princess Hafrydda within?”

“She is,” answered the menial, with a supercilious look, “but she is at breakfast, and does not see poor people at such an hour.”

“Would she see rich people if they were to call at such an hour?” demanded the witch, sharply.

“Per—perhaps she would,” replied the menial with some hesitation.

“Then I’ll wait here till she has finished breakfast. Is the king up?”

“N–no. He still slumbers.”

“Hah! Like him! He was always lazy in the mornings. Go fetch me a stool.”

The manner of the old woman with her magnificent dark eyes and deep metallic voice, and her evident knowledge of the king’s habits, were too much for the menial—a chord of superstition had been touched; it vibrated, and he was quelled. Humbly but quickly he fetched a stool.

“Won’t you step in?” he said.

“No, I’ll stop out!” she replied, and sat herself doggedly down, with the air of one who had resolved never more to go away.

Meanwhile, in the breakfast room of the palace, which was on the ground floor—indeed, all the rooms of the palace were on the ground floor, for there was no upper one—the queen and her fair daughter Hafrydda were entertaining a stranger who had arrived the day before.

He was an exceedingly handsome man of about six-and-twenty; moderately tall and strong, but with an air of graceful activity in all his movements that gave people, somehow, the belief that whatever he chose to attempt he could do. Both his olive complexion and his tongue betokened him a foreigner, for although the language he spoke was Albionic, it was what we now style broken—very much broken indeed. With a small head, short curly black hair, a very young beard, and small pointed moustache, fine intellectual features, and an expression of imperturbable good-humour, he presented an appearance which might have claimed the regard of any woman. At all events the queen had formed a very high opinion of him—and she was a woman of much experience, having seen many men in her day. Hafrydda, though, of course, not so experienced, fully equalled her mother, if she did not excel her, in her estimate of the young stranger.

As we should be unintelligible if we gave the youth’s words in the broken dialect, we must render his speech in fair English.

“I cannot tell how deeply I am grieved to hear this dreadful news of my dear friend,” he said, with a look of profound sorrow that went home to the mother’s heart.

“And did you really come to this land for the sole purpose of seeing my dear boy?” asked the queen.

“I did. You cannot imagine how much we loved each other. We were thrown together daily—almost hourly. We studied together; we competed when I was preparing for the Olympic games; we travelled in Egypt and hunted together. Indeed, if it had not been for my dear old mother, we should have travelled to this land in the same ship.”

“Your mother did not wish you to leave her, I suppose?”

“Nay, it was I who would not leaveher. Her unselfish nature would have induced her to make any sacrifice to please me. It was only when she died that my heart turned with unusual longing to my old companion Bladud, and I made up my mind to quit home and traverse the great sea in search of him.”

A grateful look shot from Hafrydda’s blue eyes, but it was lost on the youth, who sat gazing at the floor as if engrossed with his great disappointment.

“I cannot understand,” he continued, in an almost reproachful tone, “how you could ever make up your minds to banish him, no matter how deadly the disease that had smitten him.”

The princess’s fair face flushed deeply, and she shook back her golden curls—her eyes flashing as she replied—

“We did not ‘make up our minds to banish him.’ The warriors and people would have compelled us to do it whether we liked or not, for they have heard, alas! of the terrible nature of the disease. But the dear boy, knowing this, went off in the night unknown to us, and without even saying farewell. We have sent out parties to search for him several times, but without success.”

The youth was evidently affected by this burst of feeling.

“Ah,” he returned, with a look of admiration at the princess, “that was like him—like his noble, self-denying nature. But I will find him out, you may depend on it, for I shall search the land in all directions till I discover his retreat. If King Hudibras will grant me a few men to help me—well. If not, I will do it by myself.”

“Thank you, good Dromas, for your purpose and your sympathy,” said the queen. “The king will be only too glad to help you—but here he comes to speak for himself.”

The curtain door was tossed aside at the moment, and Hudibras strode into the room with a beaming smile and a rolling gait that told of redundant health, and showed that the cares of state sat lightly on him.

“Welcome, good Dromas, to our board. I was too sleepy to see much of you after your arrival last night. Mine eyes blinked like those of an owl. Kiss me, wife and daughter,” he added, giving the ladies a salute that resounded through the room. “Have they told you yet about our poor son Bladud?”

The visitor had not time to reply, when a domestic appeared and said there was an old woman at the door who would not go away.

“Give her some cakes and send her off!” cried the king with a frown.

“But she will not go till she has had converse with the princess.”

“I will go to her,” said Hafrydda, rising.

“Ay, go, my girl, and if thy sweet tongue fails to prevail, stuff her mouth with meat and drink till she is too stout to walk. Come, my queen, what have we this morning for breakfast? The very talking of meat makes me hungry.”

At this juncture several dogs burst into the room and gambolled with their royal master, as with one who is a familiar friend.

When the princess reached the outer door she found the woman standing, and evidently in a rage.

“Is this the way King Hudibras teaches his varlets to behave to poor people who are better than themselves?”

“Forgive them, granny,” said the princess, who was inclined to laugh, but strove to keep her gravity, “they are but stupid rogues at worst.”

“Nay, but they are sly rogues at best!” retorted the old woman. “The first that came, took me for a witch, and was moderately civil, but the second took away my stool and threatened to set the dogs at me.”

“If this be so, I will have him cow-hided; but tell me—what would you with me? Can I help you? Is it food that you want, or rest?”

“Truly it is both food and rest that I want, at the proper times, but what I want with you now, is to take me to your own room, and let me talk to you.”

“That is a curious desire,” returned Hafrydda, smiling, “but I will not deny you. Come this way. Have you anything secret to tell me?” she asked, when they were alone.

“Ay, that have I,” answered the woman in her natural voice, throwing off her shawl and standing erect.

The princess remained speechless, for her friend Branwen stood before her.

“Before I utter a word of explanation,” she said, “let me say that your brother is found, and safe, and well—or nearly so. This is the main thing, but I will not tell you anything more unless you give me your solemn promise not to tell a word of it all to any one till I give you leave. Do you promise?”

Hafrydda was so taken aback that she could do nothing for some time but gaze in the girl’s face. Then she laughed in an imbecile sort of way. Then she burst into tears of joy, threw her arms round her friend’s neck, hugged her tight, and promised anything—everything—that she chose to demand.

When, an hour later, the Princess Hafrydda returned to the breakfast room, she informed the king and queen that the old woman was not a beggar; that she had kept her listening to a long story about lost men and women and robbers; that she was a thorough deceiver; that some of the servants believed her to be a witch, and that she had sent her away.

“With an invitation to come back again, I’ll be bound,” cried the king, interrupting. “It’s always your way, my girl,—any one can impose on you.”

“Well, father, shedidimpose on me, and Ididask her to come back again.”

“I knew it,” returned the king, with a loud laugh, “and she’ll come, for certain.”

“She will, you may be quite sure of that,” rejoined the princess with a gleeful laugh, as she left the room.

About the same time, the little old woman left the palace and returned to the hut of the Hebrew.

Here, as she expected, she found that her escort had flown, and, a brief inspection of their footprints showed that, instead of proceeding towards the town, they had returned the way they came.

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