DISENCHANTMENT COMPLETE
They looked behind them. A high stone wall rose at their backs, and in
it was no sign of a door.
They looked across the street. It was a narrow street, paved with
cobble-stones; on the opposite side, where a row of little low shops
stretched away on either hand, a few people were going in and out at the
doors, and a few others were walking at some distance, before the
shop-windows. An ox-cart was coming slowly down the street.
Freddie had sometimes dreamed of being out among people in broad
daylight in his night-gown, and he now felt the same terror he had felt
in those dreams; he looked anxiously at the shops for a place in which
to hide. No one appeared to observe them yet, but they would soon be
seen, and it would be dreadful, unless they could find shelter without a
moment's delay.
"We had better run into one of those shops," said he, breathlessly, "and
ask them to hide us until we can get some clothes."
"Ah, no," said a soft voice beside him, at his right. "It is not a shop
that I must go to now. I must hurry home."
Freddie looked around at his right for Aunt Amanda. There was no Aunt
Amanda. In her place, holding an empty hour-glass in her right hand, was
a lady, the fairest whom Freddie had ever seen. She was young; her eyes
were of the blue of summer skies; her hair was golden yellow; on her
soft white cheek was a tinge of pink; two heavy braids of hair hung
almost to her knees; her eyes were sparkling with happiness, and a
tender and wistful smile curved her lips. As Freddie gazed at her, he
thought that there could not be in the world another so radiantly
beautiful. She looked about her as one who sees familiar things after a
long absence.
Freddie's eyes fell to the hand which was nearest him, her left. On the
third finger of her left hand was a ruby ring.
"Are you," he faltered, "are you--Aunt Amanda?"
"I think," she said, smiling on him, "I think I was, once. I think I can
remember that name. And you are--let me see; what was your name? Ah,
yes, your name was Freddie. But we must hurry; we must not keep them
waiting."
Freddie turned, and saw beside him four strange men, all gazing at the
beautiful lady in amazement. In the right hand of each was an empty
hour-glass.
Freddie looked down on the two men who stood nearest him; he looked
_down_ on them; he was suddenly aware that he was not looking up. They
were short, for full-grown men, and of precisely the same height; their
faces were square, their cheek-bones prominent, and their noses hooked;
the head of one was bald, and the hair of the other's head lay flat down
on his forehead where it curved back like a hairpin; except for their
heads, they were in all respects twins. There was no hump on the back of
either of them.
"Mr. Punch and Mr. Toby!" said Freddie.
"The wery same," said the bald-headed one.
"That's me," said the other.
Behind Mr. Toby stood a lean man in spectacles. His night-gown hung upon
him very loosely, and he was very spare indeed. His smooth-shaven cheeks
were somewhat hollow; his eyes behind his glasses were deep and solemn;
his frame was the frame of one who subdues the flesh by fasting;
snow-white hair, curling inward at the back of his neck, made a kind of
aureole around his thin face; he looked for all the world as he stood
barefoot in his long white gown, like one of those saints you see in
painted glass windows in a church.
"Is it," said Freddie, hesitating, "is it--the Churchwarden?"
"I have reason to believe," said the saintly looking man, "that I have
been known by that name. But I am in reality, and always have been, in
reality, something far more lowly than a churchwarden; I am, and always
have been, at heart, a meek and humble follower of the holy Thomas a
Kempis, whose life of serene and cloistered sanctity I have always
wished to imitate. Now that I am myself, it is my ambition to be known,
if it is not too presumptuous to say so, as Thomas the Inferior. Pax
vobiscum."
"I ain't got the least idea what that means," said Toby, "but anyway
it's the Churchwarden's voice, whether he calls himself Thomas the
Inferior or Daniel the Deleterious. You're heartily welcome, Warden, and
I hope you won't mind my saying that a good meal wouldn't do you any
harm, from the looks of you. I'm pretty near starved to death myself.
Mr. Punch, we've got rid of our humps, as sure as you're born. We're as
straight in our bodies as we've always been in our minds, and that's as
straight as a string. By crackey, I never felt so fine in my life;
blamed if I couldn't lick my weight in wildcats."
"Hi 'ave no wish to do so," said Mr. Punch. "Hi do not desire to engage
in any conflict whatever; Hi should regard such conduct as wery
reprehensible; wery. But one cannot but admit, harfter one's back 'as
been so long out of correct proportion, as one may s'y, that one enjoys
a wery pronounced satisfaction when one feels one's self restored to
one's rightful position as a hupright person, in common with one's
fellow--"
"What about Mr. Hanlon?" said Toby, turning around.
"Michael Hanlon, prisent!" said a cheerful voice.
Behind the Inferior Thomas stood a tall and handsome man, the picture of
an athlete in the prime of condition. Short curling black hair clustered
on his head; his eyes were of a humorous dark blue; his cheeks were like
red apples; his shoulders were muscular, his back was straight, his
figure slim; and he wore his night-gown as a Greek runner in ancient
times might have worn his robe after the games.
"What!" said Freddie. "Can you talk?"
"Faith," said Mr. Hanlon, "I've a tongue in me head that can wag with
anny that iver come off the blarney stone, and it's no lies I'm tellin'
ye. For an Irish gintleman to have to listen and listen, and kape his
tongue still in his head and say niver a worrd at all, at all, 'tis a
hard life, me frinds, a hard life, and it's plaised I am to be mesilf at
last, and the nate bit of tongue doin' his duty like a thrue son of
Erin--I could tell ye a swate little shtory that comes to me mind, of a
dumb Irishman that could not spake at all, at all, and the deaf wife of
him that could not hear, and their twelve pigs all lyin' down in the mud
with wan of thim standing up and crying out that the wolf was comin' in
through the gate, and the good wife unable to hear and the good man
unable to spake--"
"I reckon you've got your tongue, all right," said Toby. "I wish we had
time to hear that story, but we haven't. Now, Freddie, what do you think
we'd better--Why, Freddie! What's that you've got on your lip?"
Freddie put his hand to his upper lip. What he felt there was a tiny
silken mustache. He blushed.
"And 'e's taller than any of us except Mr. 'Anlon!" exclaimed Mr. Punch.
"My word!"
Freddie looked down at Mr. Punch, and realized his own height. He looked
at his hands, and they were almost as large as Mr. Hanlon's. His
night-gown came to his ankles, and he realized that he was no longer
holding it up.
"Why," he said, "I must be grown up!"
"Grown up is the word," said Toby, "but I'd 'a' known you anywhere.
Twenty-one years old, I should say."
"Twenty-two," said Mr. Punch.
Everyone now fell silent. The young and lovely lady, who had said
nothing during their talk, was smiling from one to another. She seemed
to feel no embarrassment nor concern, nor anything indeed but happiness.
She looked at Toby with a smile, and all the men looked at her.
"Do you know me?" she said to Toby.
"You are changed," said he, "that's a fact. But I always knew that Aunt
Amanda was like that, down deep inside of her. If she could only have
looked like what she was, that's the way she would have looked, and I
always knew it. I'm glad you've come to look like yourself at last."
"Ah!" said the beautiful lady. "I am glad you don't feel that I am
strange to you. I know you all now, better than I have ever known you.
You have been with me a long while, under disguise. I don't seem to
remember very well what your disguises were, for I seem to have known
you always as you are: my loyal knight," (turning to Freddie), "my
body-guard," (turning to Mr. Toby and Mr. Punch), "my confessor,"
(turning to Thomas the Inferior), "and my courier," (turning to Mr.
Hanlon). "In my exile you have been with me, and in my homecoming you
shall be with me still."
"We hope to be with you always," said the tall young knight who used to
be Freddie. "But we are beginning to be noticed. I have seen one or two
people stare from the shop windows. We had better hurry to one of those
shops and seek refuge until we can find proper clothes."
"Ah, no!" said the lady, with a radiant smile. "I must hasten home. They
have been waiting a long time, and I must not lose a moment. I know the
way! This street is changed since I was here, but I know it! I know the
way! Come with me! I am going home!"
She placed her empty hour-glass in Freddie's hand, and led the way up
the street. Her bare feet trod the pavement swiftly; she walked as if
she had never known what it was to be lame; she went swimmingly, with a
motion of infinite grace. The others looked about them, uneasily, as
they followed, but she seemed to care nothing for the eyes of the
people. The ox-cart stopped as it came to them, and the driver who was
walking beside it stopped also, and gazed at them with his mouth open.
Faces appeared at shop-windows as they went by, and figures appeared at
shop-doors. Two or three foot-passengers passed them, and after they had
gone, went to the nearest shop-door and stood there for a moment in talk
with the shop-keeper. They then began to follow the strange white-clad
group up the street. In a few moments others joined them. Freddie looked
behind, and wished to run; but the lady who was leading paid no
attention.
A little further on she turned a corner, and the party found themselves
in a much busier street. The sidewalks were alive with people. In a
moment there was a great silence. When the six figures first appeared,
some of the people began to laugh. Then they looked at the face of the
lady who swept along in advance of her attendants, and they laughed no
more. They began to whisper one to another. They fell apart, and made
way for her and her attendants. They stopped; they forgot their own
affairs; some ran into the shops and called out the persons who were
within; they gaped, and whispered, and nodded, and held up their hands,
and with one accord began to follow.
Further on, heads appeared from the windows of pleasure-towers and
pleasure-domes; doors opened; all who could walk joined themselves to
the crowd which was following the wondrous lady and her five strange
companions.
Deeper and deeper into the city; on past the region of shops into the
region of gardens and mansions; up by a gradual ascent to the place of
the largest and tallest towers and domes; on they went, the six
white-gowned and bare-footed figures before, and the crowd behind; and
the further they went, the greater became the crowd; and still there was
no sound from the people, except the sound of an awestruck whispering.
The dark cloud on the mountain-top was now plainly in view before them
between the towers and domes, and they could see the great mass of the
King's Tower where it rose to the cloud and lost itself within it. At
the end of the street which they were now following a majestic gateway
could be seen, and beyond it a park.
Behind them the street was choked from wall to wall with a vast
multitude. From every house, as the multitude passed, its people poured
forth and joined the throng; business was forgotten; shops and houses
were deserted; it seemed as if the whole city was in the street,
following the lady and her five attendants. She looked not behind her
once. She seemed to be unaware of anything in the world about her; her
eyes shone like stars; she had forgotten even her companions; she spoke
not a word, but looked forward to the stately gateway and the park
beyond. Still no sound came from the multitude, except a sound of
whispering.
They reached the gateway. On each side was a great stone pillar,
supporting a gate of massive bronze. The gates were open. Without an
instant's hesitation she led the way within, and as she did so placed
her left hand on her heart. The throng seemed to waver a moment, and
then as the six barefoot and white-gowned figures moved swiftly up the
driveway into the park, it flowed in silently between the gates, and
followed at a respectful distance.
Before them, at a distance, on a knoll from which terraces of velvet
grass descended, stood the palace of the King; white and broad and
flat-roofed.
Passing a grove of trees, the lady left the roadway and stepped into the
smooth grass of a lawn, and sped across it directly towards the terraces
before the palace of the King. She mounted the gentle slope, her five
friends following her; and the vast throng, filling the park to the
gates, came on behind. She reached the first terrace; her hand was still
on her heart. A dog barked.
Windows in the palace front began to go up, and faces to appear. From an
archway sprang a pack of beautiful tall white curly-haired dogs, and
rushed on the lady, barking. Freddie made as if to protect her, but she
waved him back with a smile. The dogs sprang up as if to devour her, but
they did no harm; they barked as if their throats would burst; they
leaped and gambolled about her; they thrust their noses into her hand;
they almost spoke; and in the midst of it there appeared upon the wide
steps before the palace door a noble-looking man, and beside him three
children.
At sight of this man and the children, the lady covered her eyes for an
instant with her hands, and gave a sob; but she quickly looked up, and
sped on more swiftly than before, her hands hanging beside her, and a
bright misty look in her eyes.
The man upon the palace steps shaded his eyes with his hands, and gazed
upon her and the multitude spread out across the park behind her. One of
the children, a tiny boy, he took by the hand, and another, a girl a
little older, he grasped with his other hand; and with the third, a boy
of something over nine, beside them, they all four came down the steps
and crossed the terrace to meet the radiant lady.
On the next terrace they met. He dropped his children's hands, and
stopped. He was a man of some thirty years, richly clad, and handsome
beyond measure. As he stopped, the multitude found its voice. A mighty
shout went up.
"Long live the King! Long live the King!"
He paid no attention. His eyes were on the fair lady before him. A cry
from the oldest boy rang out clear and sharp in the silence.
"Mother!"
The King held out his arms.
"My darling!" he cried. "At last! At last!"
"Beloved!" she cried, and rushed into his arms, and buried her face in
his shoulder.
The children clung to her, weeping, and with one arm she pressed them
close against her side.
The multitude found its voice again.
"Long live Queen Miranda! Long live Queen Miranda!"