THE STORY OF A KING'S DAUGHTER.
'Gentle and sweet is she;
As the heart of a rose is her heart,
As soft and as fair and as sweet.'
_Liliput Lectures._
Godmother turned to the little strangers. The two pairs of blue eyes
were still fixed upon her. _Her_ eyes looked very kind and gentle, and
yet very 'seeing', as she caught their gaze.
'I believe,' thought Maia, 'that she can tell all we are thinking;' and
Rollo had something of the same idea, yet neither of them felt the least
afraid of her.
'Rollo and Maia, dear children, too,' she said, 'we are so pleased to
see you.'
'And we are very pleased to be here,' said they; 'but----' and then they
hesitated.
'You are puzzled how it is I know your names, and all about you, are
you not?' she said, smiling. 'I puzzle most children at first; but isn't
it rather nice to be puzzled?'
This was a new idea. Thinking it over, they began to find there was
something in it.
'I think it _is_,' both replied, smiling a little.
'If you knew all about everything, and could see through everything,
there wouldn't be much interest left. Nothing to find out or to fancy.
Oh, what a dull world!'
'Are we to find out or to fancy _you_?' asked Maia. She spoke seriously,
but there was a little look of fun in her eyes which was at once
reflected in godmother's.
'Whichever you like,' she replied; 'but, first of all, you are to kiss
me.'
Rollo and Maia both kissed the soft white face. It was _so_ soft, and
there seemed a sort of fresh, sweet scent about godmother, as if she had
been in a room all filled with violets, only it was even nicer. She
smiled, and from a little basket on her arm, which they had not noticed,
she drew out several tiny bunches of spring flowers, tied with green and
white ribbon--so pretty; oh, so very pretty!
'So you scented my flowers,' she said. 'No wonder; you have never
scented any quite like them before. They come from the other country.
Here, dears, catch,' and she tossed them up in the air, all four
children jumping and darting about to see who would get most. But at the
end, when they counted their treasures, it was quite right, each had got
three.
'Oh, how sweet!' cried Maia. 'May we take them home with us, godmother?'
It seemed to come quite naturally to call her that, and Maia did it
without thinking.
'Certainly,' godmother replied; 'but remember this, don't throw them
away when they seem withered. They will not be really withered; that is
to say, long afterwards, by putting them in the sunshine, they
will--some of them, any way--come out quite fresh again. And even when
dried up they will have a delicious scent; indeed, the scent has an
added charm about it the older they are--so many think, and I agree with
them.'
Rollo and Maia looked at their flowers with a sort of awe.
'Then they are _fairy_ flowers?' they half whispered. 'You said they
came from the other country. Do you come from there too, godmother? Are
you a fairy?'
Godmother smiled.
'Fancy me one if you like,' she said. 'Fancy me whatever you like best,
you will not be far wrong; but fairyland is only one little part of that
other country. You will find that out as you get older.'
'Shall we go there some day, then?' exclaimed Maia. 'Will you take us,
dear godmother? Have Waldo and Silva ever been?'
'Oh, what a lot of questions all at once!' cried godmother. 'I can't
answer so many. You must be content to find out some things for
yourself, my little girl. The way to the other country for one. Shall
you go there some day? Yes, indeed, many and many a time, I hope.'
Maia clapped her hands with delight.
'Oh, how nice!' she said. 'And when? May we go to-day? Oh, Silva, do ask
godmother to let us go to-day,' she exclaimed, catching hold of Silva in
her eagerness. But Silva only smiled, and looked at godmother; and
somehow, when they smiled, the two faces--the young one with its bright
rich colour, and the old one, white, so white, except for the wonderful,
beautiful eyes, that it might have been made of snow--looked strangely
alike.
'Silva has learned to be patient,' said godmother, 'and so she gets to
know more and more of the other country. You must follow her example,
little Maia. Don't be discouraged. How do you know that you are not
already on the way there? What do you think about it, my boy?' she went
on, turning to Rollo, who was standing a little behind them listening,
but saying nothing.
Rollo looked up and smiled.
'I'd like to find the way myself,' he replied.
'That's right,' said godmother. And Maia felt more and more puzzled, as
it seemed to her that Rollo understood the meaning of godmother's words
better than she did.
'Rollo,' she exclaimed, half reproachfully.
Rollo turned to her with some surprise.
'You understand and I don't,' she said, with a little pout on her pretty
lips.
'No,' said Rollo, 'I don't. But I like to think of understanding some
day.'
'That is right,' said godmother again. 'But this is dull talk for you,
little people. What is it to be to-day, Silva? What is old godmother to
do for you?'
Silva glanced out of the window.
'The day will soon be closing into evening,' she said,' and Rollo and
Maia cannot stay after sunset. We have not very long, godmother--no
time to go anywhere.'
'Ah, I don't know about that,' godmother replied. 'But still--the first
visit. What would you like, then, my child?'
'Let us gather round the fire, for it is a little chilly,' said Silva,
'and you, dear godmother, will tell us a story.'
Maia's eyes and Rollo's, too, brightened at this. Godmother had no need
to ask if they would like it. She drew the large chair nearer the
fireplace, and the four children clustered round her in silence waiting
for her to begin.
'It is too warm with my cloak on,' she said, and she raised her hand to
unfasten it at the neck and loosen it a little. It did not entirely fall
off; the dark green hood still made a shade round her silvery hair and
delicate face, but the cloak dropped away enough for Maia's sharp eyes
to see that the dress underneath was of lovely crimson stuff, neither
velvet nor satin, but richer and softer than either. It glimmered in the
light of the fire with a sort of changing brilliance that was very
tempting, and it almost seemed to Maia that she caught the sparkle of
diamonds and other precious stones.
'May I stroke your pretty dress, godmother?' she said softly. Godmother
started; she did not seem to have noticed how much of the crimson was
seen, and for a moment Maia felt a little afraid. But then godmother
smiled again, and the child felt quite happy, and slipped her hand
inside the folds of the cloak till it reached the soft stuff beneath.
'Stroke it the right way,' said godmother.
'Oh, _how_ soft!' said Maia in delight. 'What _is_ it made of? It isn't
velvet, or even plush. Godmother,' she went on, puckering her forehead
again in perplexity, 'it almost feels like _feathers_. Are you perhaps a
_bird_ as well as a fairy?'
At this godmother laughed. You never heard anything so pretty as her
laugh. It was something like--no, I could never tell you what it was
like--a very little like lots of tiny silver bells ringing, and soft
breezes blowing, and larks trilling, all together and _very_ gently, and
yet very clearly. The children could not help all laughing, too, to hear
it.
'Call me whatever you like,' said godmother. 'A bird, or a fairy, or a
will-o'-the-wisp, or even a witch. Many people have called me a witch,
and I don't mind. Only, dears,' and here her pretty, sweet voice grew
grave, and even a little sad, 'never think of me except as loving you
and wanting to make you happy and good. And never believe I have said or
done anything to turn you from doing right and helping others to do it.
That is the only thing that could grieve me. And the world is full of
people who don't see things the right way, and blame others when it is
their own fault all the while. So sometimes you will find it all rather
difficult. But don't forget.'
'No,' said Maia, 'we won't forget, even though we don't quite
understand. We will some day, won't we?'
'Yes, dears, that you will,' said godmother.
'And just now,' said Silva, 'it doesn't matter. We needn't think about
the difficult world, dear godmother, while we're _here_--ever so far
away from it.'
'No, we need not,' said godmother, with what sounded almost like a sigh,
if one could have believed that godmother _could_ sigh! If it were one,
it was gone in an instant, and with her very prettiest and happiest
smile, godmother turned to the children.
'And now, dears,' she said, 'now for the story.'
The four figures drew still nearer, the four pair of eyes were fixed on
the sweet white face, into which, as she spoke, a little soft pink
colour began to come. Whether it was from the reflection of the fire or
not, Maia could not decide, and godmother's clear voice went on.
'Once----'
'Once upon a time; do say "once upon a time,"' interrupted Silva.
'Well, well, once upon a time,' repeated godmother, 'though, by the by,
how do you know I was _not_ going to say it? Well, then, once upon a
time, a long ago once upon a time, there lived a king's daughter.'
'A princess,' interrupted another voice, Maia's this time. 'Why don't
you say a princess, dear godmother?'
'Never mind,' replied godmother. 'I like better to call her a king's
daughter.'
'And don't interrupt any more, please,' said Waldo and Rollo together,
quite forgetting that they were actually interrupting themselves.
'And,' continued godmother, without noticing this last interruption,
'she was very beautiful and very sweet and good, even though she had
everything in the world that even a king's daughter could want. Do you
look surprised at my saying "even though," children? You need not; there
is nothing more difficult than to remain unselfish, which is just
another word for "sweet and good," if one never knows what it is to have
a wish ungratified. But so it was with Aureole, for that was the name of
the fair maiden. Though she had all her life been surrounded with luxury
and indulgence, though she had never known even a crumpled rose-leaf in
her path, her heart still remained tender, and she felt for the
sufferings of others whenever she knew of them, as if they were her own.
'"Who knows?" she would say softly to herself, "who knows but what some
day sorrow may come to me, and then how glad I should be to find
kindness and sympathy!"
'And when she thought thus there used to come a look in her eyes which
made her old nurse, who loved her dearly, tremble and cross herself.
'"I have never seen that look," she would whisper, though not so that
Aureole could hear it--"I have never seen that look save in the eyes of
those who were born to sorrow."
'But time went on, and no sorrows of her own had as yet come to Aureole.
She grew to be tall and slender, with golden fair curls about her face,
which gave her a childlike, innocent look, as if she were younger than
her real age. And with her years her tenderness and sympathy for
suffering seemed to grow deeper and stronger. It was the sure way to her
heart. In a glade not far from the castle she had a favourite bower,
where early every morning she used to go to feed and tend her pets, of
which the best-loved was a delicate little fawn that she had found one
day in the forest, deserted by its companions, as it had hurt its foot
and could no longer keep pace with them. With difficulty Aureole and her
nurse carried it home between them, and tended it till it grew well
again and could once more run and spring as lightly as ever. And then
one morning Aureole, with tears in her eyes, led it back to the forest
where she had found it.
'"Here, my fawn," she said, "you are free as air. I would not keep you a
captive. Hasten to your friends, my fawn, but do not forget Aureole, and
if you are in trouble come to her to help you."
'But the fawn would not move. He rubbed himself softly against her, and
looked up in her face with eyes that almost spoke. She could not but
understand what he meant to say.
'"I cannot leave you. Let me stay always beside you," was what he tried
to express. So Aureole let him follow her home again, and from that
day he had always lived in her bower, and was never so happy as when
gambolling about her. She had other pets too--numbers of birds of
various kinds, none of which she kept in cages, for all of them she had
in some way or other saved and protected, and, like the fawn, they
refused to leave her. The sweetest, perhaps, were a pair of wood-pigeons
which she had one day released from a fowler's snare, where they had
become entangled. It was the prettiest sight in the world to see Aureole
in her bower every morning, the fawn rubbing his soft head against her
white dress, and the wood-pigeons cooing to her, one perched on each
shoulder, while round her head fluttered a crowd of birds of different
kinds--all owing their life and happiness to her tender care. There was
a thrush, which she had found half-fledged and gasping for breath,
fallen from the nest; a maimed swallow, who had been left behind by his
companions in the winter flight. And running about, though still lame of
one leg, a tame rabbit which she had rescued from a dog, and ever so
many other innocent creatures, all with histories of the same kind, and
each vying with the other to express gratitude to their dear mistress as
she stood there with the sunshine peeping through the boughs and
lighting up her sweet face and bright hair.
[Illustration: 'It was the prettiest sight in the world to see Aureole
in her bower every morning.']
'But summer and sunshine do not always last, and in time sorrow came to
Aureole as to others.
'Her mother had died when she was a little baby, and her father was
already growing old. But he felt no anxiety about the future of his only
child, for it had long been decided that she was to marry the next heir
to his crown, the Prince Halbert, as by the laws of that country no
woman could reign. Aureole had not seen Halbert for many years, when, as
children, they had played together; but she remembered him with
affection as a bright merry boy, and she looked forward without fear to
being his wife.
'"Why should I not love him?" she said to herself. "I have never yet
known any one who was not kind and gentle, and Halbert will be still
more so to me than any one else, for he will be my king and master."
'And when the day came for the Prince to return to see her again, she
waited for him quietly and without misgiving. And at first all seemed as
she had pictured it. Halbert was manly and handsome, he had an open
expression and winning manners, he was devoted to his gentle cousin. So
the old King was delighted, and Aureole said to herself, "What have I
done to deserve such happiness? How can I ever sufficiently show my
gratitude?"
'She was standing in her bower when she thought thus, surrounded as
usual by her pets. Suddenly among the trees at some little distance she
heard a sound of footsteps, and at the same time a harsh voice, which
she scarcely recognised, speaking roughly and sharply.
'"Out of my way, you cur," it said, and then came the sound of a blow,
followed by a piteous whine.
'Aureole darted forward, and in another instant came upon Halbert, his
face dark and frowning, while a poor little dog lay bleeding at his
feet.
'"Halbert!" exclaimed Aureole. Her cousin started; he had not heard her
come. "Did _you_ do this? Did _you_ strike the little dog?"
'Halbert turned towards her; he had reddened with shame, but he tried to
laugh it off.
'"It is nothing," he said; "the creature will be all right again
directly. Horrid little cur! it rushed out at me from that cottage there
and yelped and barked just when I was eagerly hastening to your bower,
Princess."
'But Aureole hardly heard him, or his attempts at excusing himself. She
was on her knees before the poor dog.
'"Why, Fido," she said, "dear little Fido, do you not know me?" Fido
feebly tried to wag his tail.
'"Is it _your_ dog?" stammered Halbert. "I had no--not the slightest
idea----"
'But Aureole flashed back an answer which startled him. "_My_ dog," she
said. "No. But what has that to do with it? Oh, you cruel man!"
'Then she turned from him, the little dog all panting and bleeding in
her arms. Halbert was startled by the look on her face.
'"Forgive me, Aureole," he cried. "I did not mean to hurt the creature.
I am hasty and quick-tempered, but you should not punish so severely an
instant's thoughtlessness."
'"It was not thoughtlessness. It was cowardly cruelty," replied Aureole
slowly, turning her pale face towards him. "A man must have a cruel
nature who, even under irritation, could do what you have done.
Farewell," and she was moving away when he stopped her.
'"What do you mean by farewell? You are not in earnest?" he exclaimed.
But Aureole looked at him with indignation.
'"Not in earnest?" she repeated. "Never was I more so in my life!
Farewell, Halbert."
'"And you will not see me again?" he exclaimed.
'"I will never see you again," Aureole replied, "till you have learnt to
feel for the sufferings of your fellow-creatures, instead of adding to
them. And who can say if that day will ever come? Farewell again,
Halbert."
'The Prince stood thunderstruck, watching her slight figure as it
disappeared among the trees. He felt like a man in a dream. Then, as he
gradually became conscious that it was all true, his hot temper broke
out in anger at Aureole, in mockery at her absurdity and exaggeration,
and he tried to believe what he said, that no man could be happy with so
fanciful and unreasonable a wife, and that he had nothing to regret. In
his heart he was angry with himself, though to this he would not own,
and conscious also that Aureole's instinct had judged him truly. He was
selfish and utterly thoughtless for others, and far on the way therefore
to becoming actually cruel. He had, like Aureole, been surrounded by
luxury and indulgence all his life, but had not, like her, acquired the
habit of feeling for others and looking upon his own blessings as to be
shared with those who were without them.
'Aureole kept to her word. She would not see Halbert again, though the
King, her father, did his utmost to shake her resolution. She remained
firm. It was better so for both of them, she repeated. It would kill her
to be the wife of such a man, and do him no good. So in bitter and angry
resentment, rather than sorrow, Prince Halbert went away, and Aureole's
life returned to what it had been before his coming.