A LONG JOURNEY.
King Brondé had been so often disappointed, that he was, at first,
unwilling to set forth upon so very doubtful a journey; and especially
as no person could be found who could tell in what direction lay this
unknown Silver Lake.
In order, however, to divert the mind of the queen, he laid aside his
doubts, and commanded that preparations for travelling be made at once.
The grand state coach, all covered with gold and silver, and drawn by
twenty white horses, was got in readiness, and also other magnificent
coaches; for many lords and nobles of the court were to go in
attendance, and also a band of soldiers.
On they travelled, for days and weeks. Many gave up all hope, and spoke
of returning. Beautiful lakes had they passed, but thus far not one
bearing the name Silver Lake had been found. And the king said one
day:--
“My dear Lily Queen, this Silver Lake, with its stream flowing to the
sea,--was it not all a dream? Shall we chase a vision? Let us return,
and no longer cherish vain hopes.”
The queen, however, would not be persuaded. A little farther, she said,
and yet a little farther; but at last agreed, that if, by the morrow’s
sunset, no Silver Lake was found, they would then return.
* * * * *
The morrow was past. Bravely had they travelled on, and, just as the
sun went down, were ready to halt in a poor little village.
The sky was all aglow with the brilliant hues of sunset. In the west
lay clouds of purple and gold, and of all radiant colors. The Lily
Queen gazed mournfully at this fine show. For the morrow was now past,
the sunset hour had come, and she could no longer ask to continue the
journey. This last hope, then, was gone.
But while her gaze was fixed upon a broad, high hill, which stood
darkly up against the western sky, she perceived, advancing steadily
over it, a long procession or company of people. Perhaps, thought she,
a troop of hostile soldiers, or perhaps some robber band to waylay us.
She distinctly saw plumes waving, also banners streaming, and heard the
sound of music.
She hastened to the king. He and his attendants were already alarmed,
and were watching, with some anxiety, the oncoming of this host. The
soldiers, well armed, stood ready to receive them.
Nearer and nearer they come. Now down the sides of the hill; now along
the plain; and now they enter the streets of the village. Troops of
horsemen ride in advance. In the midst of these is a grand chariot,
decked out with costly trappings.
[Illustration]
Inside this chariot sits a royally dressed person, who has a noble
countenance, and who wears a crown. By his side is a sprightly young
maiden, with sparkling black eyes and a merry face. Upon her head is
a red velvet cap and plume, from beneath which hang long braids of
shining hair. She also wears a velvet jacket, with scarlet facings.
This bright-eyed maiden is Bertha. She has persuaded her father to make
inquiries concerning the good King Brondé, and they are now on their
way to his kingdom with trains of armed attendants.
* * * * *
Who can describe the raptures of the Lily Queen as she held in her arms
one who had, not so very long before, embraced her darling child?--one
who could relate all that happened to her after the day when they were
parted. Then came endless questions.
Where was Rosebud now? Was she well? Was she sorrowful? Was she in
distress? And, above all, could Bertha guide them to her?
No. Not directly. Bertha was ignorant of both the name and the
situation of that little village by the shore.
Did she know of Silver Lake?
O yes! Certainly, she knew of Silver Lake.
“Come,” said she, “to the top of yonder hill, which looms so darkly
against the sunset brightness.”
All therefore proceeded to the top of this broad hill, and there, far
below, they beheld a sheet of water, so smooth, so silvery, and so
fair, that it seemed a round piece of silver, just dropped from the
sky.
“But where is the stream which flows to the sea?” asked the king.
* * * * *
The stream which flowed to the sea was, at first, only a little brook.
It ran out from the lake, beneath mosses and bending grass; hid itself,
for a long way, among thick, overhanging bushes, but at length came
dancing out into the sunshine, and went its way through meadow and wood
singing its own happy song.
And soon it was joined by other little singing brooks, all going the
same way. Thus it happened that, after travelling many miles, the small
stream became a river, and flowed to the sea.
But by no means in a direct course, or always by pleasant ways. It
ran here and there, doubling, curving, winding, now through tangled
forests, now sweeping around the base of a mountain, now leaping a
precipice or dashing itself against the ragged rocks, thus leading
our travellers a tiresome and oftentimes a dangerous journey; for
there were mountains to climb, roads to cut through the forest, and
frequently a hasty bridge to be thrown across a stream.
And one night while resting in a small village they narrowly escaped
a great danger; for, without the assistance of the king,--Bertha’s
father,--they must have all been taken prisoners. This danger was from
Magnus, King Brondé’s old enemy.
Having, by means of his great strength, escaped from prison, he had
again rallied around him a powerful band. He then sent out spies, and,
having learned from them of King Brondé’s journey, he resolved to
surprise and attack him by night. It was Bertha who discovered their
approach. She was sitting late at the window, looking at the moon and
the hurrying clouds, and thinking of her true love away at the wars,
when her eye caught from afar the gleaming of steel in the moonlight,
and she presently saw armed men winding around the foot of a hill. She
quickly gave the alarm, and all placed themselves in readiness for
whatever might come.
Now Magnus had supposed that Brondé’s party would be easily taken.
Intending a surprise, he was himself surprised at being so far
outnumbered, and fled in dismay, with all his band.
But a shower of sharp-pointed arrows was sent in among them. Many of
his men were seen to fall; and Magnus himself received wounds, of which
a few years after he died.
And now, dreading another attack, a watch was set every night. They
were not, however, again molested. All went well with them. Full of
hope, they kept bravely on, and at length arrived, one beautiful
morning, at the top of a high hill, from whence could be heard the
distant moaning of the sea.
Bertha begged the Queen to calm herself, and to remember that even if
they found the little fishing-hamlet, it was by no means sure that
Rosebud would still be living there. Rupert might have come for her,
or else she and Myrtle might have begun their travels in search of her
home, as they had planned.
The queen only answered by a sign to go on faster, faster!
On arriving at the summit of the next hill, the sea, the broad blue
sea, lay spread before them. Its waves came dashing upon the sandy
shores below.
They saw the white-sailed ships go by, and the little boats tossing
upon the waters, near the shore. One is guided by a boy. There are
children sitting on the rocks. A little girl runs down to the water’s
edge.
King Brondé and the queen dared no longer look. Unable to speak or
hardly to breathe, they sank back among the cushions, and there awaited
in silence what might be the fulfilment, or might be the destruction,
of their hopes.