THE DAY BEFORE THE WEDDING
When Ruth realized that it was David whom she had seen, that the little
written message which she treasured so carefully and always carried
tucked away in a safe place near her heart, was truly written by him,
her joy and fear knew no bounds.
Yes, it was true: David knew where she was. And he would do all in his
power to rescue her, to save her from the horrible fate that hung over
her. For had not the Bronze King already set the date for their
marriage? Had she not seen the wedding invitations and been forced to
fold and address many of the great heavy envelopes that contained the
announcement of the dreaded event?
It was to take place soon--all too soon, alas! There was little time to
be lost. Could David succeed in rescuing her? Could he, in so short a
time, devise any method of saving her from the terrible life that seemed
so surely about to become hers? What if anything happened to David? What
if he met any of the King’s men in or about the woods that adjoined the
Palace? She recalled what the King had said to her on that first day,
the day when she was captured; and she shuddered as she repeated the
words to herself--“As for that young David of whom you speak, he had
best keep off my land! All who are found trespassing upon my kingdom are
put to death at once.” “David, oh, David! be careful!” she cried.
Then the thought of the terrible Lions filled her with dread. She was
sure that he could know nothing of them. She had feared for him on that
memorable morning and had listened all that long, dreary day, dreading
to hear the sound of their deafening roar, which would surely be the
signal that some poor wanderer had fallen their victim. But the Lions
had been quiet all day, so she knew he had escaped and had doubtless
left the Castle in another direction, knowing nothing of their
whereabouts or the dangers that they embodied. But might he not, if he
knew nothing of the danger, come upon them in returning? He would return
in the darkness, for she herself had counselled him to come on a dark,
starless night. “Oh, David, David, if I should be the cause of your
death--!”
Nearer and nearer drew the date set for the wedding. The Palace was to
be decked in gala fashion, and already preparations were under way; the
decorators and landscape gardeners were in full possession, and there
was everywhere an atmosphere of eagerness and proud competition.
It had pleased the fancy of the King to make the night preceding the
wedding one of little merriment, “For,” he said, “I wish my bride to be
fair and beautiful on my wedding day.”
Poor Ruth had grown pale and thin during her days of captivity. She
could neither eat nor sleep, and the women in attendance had been
obliged to use all their arts to keep her looking even presentable, for
the King would permit no pale faces or dull, tear-stained eyes.
So the evening preceding the wedding was to be spent quietly. The
household was to assemble after the evening meal, and Ruth was to sing
while the others drank and smoked.
The evening was clear and calm, and the lingering twilight revealed a
tiny crescent moon that sank below the horizon as the last glow of
sunset faded from the sky. Later the wind rose, and dark, threatening
storm-clouds obscured the light of the watching stars.
Ruth tuned her harp, but there was little music in her heart. The dark,
cloud-swept night seemed a fitting emblem of her future life.
She sang. “Let me forget,” she thought to herself, “let me forget the
present and the future; let me live in the past.” So she sang one after
another the songs that she and David had loved and sung together. And as
she sang, there crept over the listeners that strange, deep drowsiness
that so often seemed to follow as a result of her sweet, pure music.
[Illustration:
SO SHE SANG ONE AFTER ANOTHER
THE SONGS THAT SHE AND DAVID
HAD LOVED]
One by one the men and women yawned, their heads began to nod, the fires
in the pipes smouldered and finally burned out, the glasses of wine on
the tables were left untasted. Eyes closed, heads drooped at all sorts
of strange and uncomfortable-looking angles; and soon sounds of heavy
breathing, that rose to the volume of deep snores, filled the room.
Still Ruth sang, for still not all were sleeping. The King would rouse
himself every now and then as if striving to shake off the stupor that
sought to gain possession of him.
A strange, strange sound floated in through the open window--a sound as
of the rushing of mighty wings. Ruth paused a moment to listen--then she
heard the clear, high note of David’s whistle! As the last note rang its
welcome message through her throbbing heart, she sang the answering
notes which, she knew, would convey to David the message he longed to
hear.
A huge moth flew in through the open window, bumped about among the
candles for a while, then alighted upon the bald spot on the King’s head
and walked across the smooth surface, dragging its wings as it moved.
Ruth almost laughed aloud--but no, it was too serious a moment to yield
to such an impulse.
The moth tickled the King. He awoke--opened his eyes--brushed his hand
impatiently across his forehead--rose from his chair.
Ruth’s heart sank. Was failure to meet them after all, when victory had
seemed so near?
“You have sung well to-night, little Queen,” the King said--“and
to-morrow is our wedding day.”
“I have failed, Sire,” she said, “in that which I most wished to do.”
“What is that?” he asked.
“I had thought to put you _all_ asleep to-night--all here in the Palace.
I had almost succeeded, when a great moth flew through the open window
and awakened your Majesty. Could I but have reached your side in time, I
would have driven the thing away: then you too would have slept, and
then I should have been happy indeed!”
“Well, Child,” said the King indulgently, “if you desire that so much,
sing on. It will take but a few moments to lull me into as deep a sleep
as any here in the Hall!”
He settled himself comfortably in a high armchair, stretched out, and
rested his feet on a footstool made in such a shape as to fit the
chair, making it almost like a couch. Ruth sang again, this time the
song she loved most dearly.--
“The forget-me-nots in the meadow
Reflect the sky’s own blue,
As they lift their tiny blossoms
To catch the falling dew.
The Blue Bird flies o’er the meadow;
Through the calm his note is heard.
Lo, the throbbing heart of Nature
Is in tune with the song of a bird.”
The deep, heavy snores rose in a chorus around her as the song ceased,
and this time the Bronze King slept even more soundly than Ruth had
dared to hope possible.
She rose cautiously, tiptoed her way across the great hall, and slowly
pushed the heavy folding doors apart, then as silently closed them
behind her. Like the wind she sped along the narrow passageway that led
to her own apartments, opened the door, and flew to the long casement
window that gave access to the Palace Garden, where she knew David
awaited her. She stepped out into the night.
A gust of wind blew the window to behind her with a crash that shattered
the glass into a thousand fragments. Her heart sank. “David, David!” she
called softly. There was no answer. It was dark--so dark that she could
see nothing--and she feared lest the sound of the crashing glass had
awakened the sleepers.
She gave a low, clear whistle. In an instant, before there was time for
an answer, David was at her side. “Come!” she said. “There is no time to
be lost: the sleepers are waking.” As she spoke, they heard the sound
of hurrying feet in the passageway. The door of the apartment was pushed
open, and her name was eagerly called.
“She is not here, Sire,” said a trembling voice. “And the window is
shattered. She must have tried to escape. Spread the alarm throughout
the Palace!”
David and Ruth fled hand in hand through the darkness, out into the
Palace Garden, surrounded by its high, solid brick walls.
[Illustration:
“THIS WAY, RUTH, THIS WAY,”
WHISPERED DAVID]